


At Night They Return

by Unanee



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant up to Chapter 227, Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9187178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unanee/pseuds/Unanee
Summary: After being rescued from the Noah, Lavi has joined Allen, Kanda, and Johnny on the run. Time apart has changed them all, and friendly faces have become unrecognizable. But when everything turns against you, including time, all you have are the people sticking by your side.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26/01/18  
> Replaced both the prologue and the next chapter with new edits. Besides grammar, there are a few changes in the story itself (nothing major, but you might want to read them). Canon Complience has been stretched up to the newest Chapter since it didn't mess up the plot.

_“That Mansion exists in the present day as well.”_

**―** **Cross Marian**

 

It was no use. The roads were blocked, covered in thick, impassable mud. Someone had angered the sky and ripped the firmament open, and now it cried in rage, like the God in the original tale of Noah’s Ark.

Travelling would have been a fool’s errand.

The streets had become a miniature archipelago, but whatever was going on there couldn’t be seen through the smudged windows. They looked like chalk drawings against the dark walls that throbbed in the rhythm of the drumming echoing from the roof. The inn room was small, suffocatingly small, and seemed to be shrinking—but it was dry and warm. They had lucked out. No one should have been out it that weather.

A sneeze sent the room spinning.

Johnny groaned. His’s fingers had shot up and brushed against his eyeglasses. There, in the middle of the large lenses, was now a stain. Great—just as he’d managed to dry them, the world blurred again.

The small lantern on the nightstand provided some light. Where was that rag he had used earlier? He hoped it hadn’t slipped to the floor—the floor, as it was, was a junkyard. Piles everywhere, wet clothes and empty food bags; wrappings of devoured sandwiches, apple stalks.

Allen was probably still hungry.

On the other side of the room, just few feet from Johnny’s, stood another bed. Two teenagers had squashed themselves into it, huddling together like baby animals. The sight would have made anyone smile. One of them was slumped against the wall, and his longer legs stuck out from below their shared blanket, white socks wiggling like seal pups. The other teenager was pressed against him, shifting and squirming on his place. His plump, pink face screwed up in discomfort, and the ominous red mark on his forehead blinked whenever it came into the view. Poor things. Red and white fought for space, sticking together like two furballs or thistle flowers.

Lavi and Allen.

They were worth thousand smiles. It’d been a long day, and the younger ones deserved the rest.

Johnny had thought about giving his bed to Allen, but the offer would have been declined. As soon as they had gotten into the room, Allen had pushed Lavi on the bed and crawled there next to him, claiming the place despite its crampedness. How could they tell him no? Allen was caring and generous like that, a good boy. And concerned. Like a guardian angel.

…what a bad choice of words.

Better not to think about that that now. It was late, and Johnny also needed his eyeful. After trying to find a place that would sell food at this hour, he was tired of running around the town in rain. Not to mention glancing behind his shoulder.

Lavi’s feet kept moving, twitching. They were strained from the walk, too weak to withstand long distances. It was good that he had fallen asleep immediately—and hadn’t had time to shun their sleeping arrangements. The messy scarf around his neck looked too big and tight at the same time, just like his other clothes. Old, unfit for the change. As if to agree, Allen let out a small whine.

Something jumped from the floor, grabbing on the sheets of Allen and Lavi’s bed. It was a sturdy arm, ghostly white except for the large cross-shaped scar on its inner muscle. Kanda’s. The Japanese man lied in the small crack between the two beds, sprawled on a mattress forcibly crammed there. His chest heaved up and down, edging the tense arm lower.

Tired—Kanda must have been as tired as corpse. But despite that, his hold on the sheets held stubbornly. He should have agreed to take the other bed, but Johnny understood why he hadn’t.

Done! He was done with the scrubbing! It had worked, and one puff and ten seconds later, his lenses sparkled again, free of grease and dirt! What a relief!

Johnny slipped back in-between the moth-eaten sheets, shuddering as they stuck to his skin. He didn’t want to let go of his clean glasses, but it was unavoidable if he wanted to sleep. One more look around the room—then he’d put them away. He found all three of his companions in the exactly same positions as a moment ago, and with a clear sight, it was easier to spot the small details his bad eyes had missed. Everyone was still wet and dirty, ragged and bloody—the little time in the inn hadn’t been enough to heal their wounds.

It was so easy to forget they weren’t what they seemed. Their bodies had grown and matured, and they had certainly experienced things far beyond your everyday man. But when they were packed together like this, unmasked and entrusting their safety to the night, they looked like three lost children instead of the warriors they were supposed to be.

It broke Johnny’s heart.

He wanted nothing more than take them home. This was not the life they were supposed to live.

How long could they keep chasing that tiny lead General Cross had provided them?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings. First, I want to thank you for checking out this story--hopefully the prologue piqued your interest. After discovering the horrible lack of Allen/Lavi/Kanda fanfics, I felt compelled to write something about them. This will be around 10 chapters because I suck with shorter stories.
> 
> On the prologue you got a little peek at the setting from Johnny's POV. The main focus will be on Allen, Kanda, and Lavi, and their POVS will take over from here on. This is the very first fanfic I have written in long time, not to mention in foreign language. I'll apologize for the errors. If you spot them, please don't be afraid to point them to me. I'll keep on studying and (hopefully) getting better in the process.


	2. Wounds Washed by Moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26/01/18  
> Updated grammar and language for this chapter and the prologue. Some minor edits to the story, but everything stays mostly same.

_“Everything's a lot tougher when it's for real. That's when you choke. When it's for real.”_

― Stephen King, It

 

The reign of night is surprisingly quiet and calm. The forest hums contently, listening the sounds provided by its creatures. The sky is dark, darker than the surface of an iron cauldron, but the stars and the moon are up, shining and illuminating the environment pleasing for the human eye. It’s warm enough for a man to get rid of his coat and enjoy the light summer breeze wondering through the woods.

Lavi is sitting on the ground, humming an old melody learned on his past travels. He is wearing his loyal bandanna and scarf, and a worn-out shirt that was once sky blue. His coat and boots are lying on the nearby pile, untouched and unneeded. In front of him burns a healthy campfire, dancing with the shadows of the night.

Lavi’s rough hands move fast, accustomed to their task. They clean and peal the bumpy potatoes, putting them on a small pot, one after the other. It still lacks the water. Lavi finishes the potatoes and moves on to the carrots, leaving the onions for last. Hmm. Maybe he should double the amount. The carrots are easier to prepare than the potatoes. Lavi likes carrots, and Allen likes everything, so he would also appreciate the extra. More carrots it is. Today Lavi will spoil his companions with carrots—and herbs, and maybe some butter.

“You fine there by yourself?

The sudden voice interrupts Lavi, halting his moments. It takes him a moment to recognize it as Johnny’s. Phew. Lavi turns his lone eye towards the scientist setting up the tents behind him. “Yeah, just making a bigger batch,” he answers. “Don’t want Allen accusing me of starving him.”

Johnny hums in agreement. “Okay, call me if you need any help. I should be finished with these soon.” The offer is kind, and Lavi smiles at him gratefully.

“Nah, I’m fine. Besides, I kinda like doing this,” he says, returning his attention to the ongoing task. Truth is, he doesn’t want to hurry. It’s nice to do something he is familiar with. Something easy and automatic. It gives his hands something to do and keeps him from thinking too much.

Too much of what has happened.

Lavi stops the peeling. His breathing comes out in small whines.

His toes curl up, sliding under his soles. His feet arch up, starting to resemble shell-less tortoises. He brings his legs closer and becomes as small as possible, wrapping his scarf around his neck with an additional loop. It’s too warm—way too warm—but Lavi wants the scarf close, secured.

Where are Allen and Yuu? How long have they been gone now? Lavi wishes they were here. Johnny is right there behind him, but it’s not the same. Lavi cares about him—he really does—but Johnny is not Allen or Yuu. Or Lenalee, or Kro-chan, or... damn, even Miranda! Johnny doesn’t have Innocence. He is not an Exorcist.

Lavi reaches for his own Innocence, fumbling for its holster—the holster that isn’t on its usual place.

At that moment, familiar voices start echoing from the woods. The place where Lavi’s heart is supposed to be starts lightening.

Allen is the first to emerge from the trees. His usually pale face is fuming, and Yuu’s isn’t much calmer. They’re spitting and hissing at each other like angry cats, and Lavi has no idea what has riled them up this time—he suspects neither of them knows either. He straightens his back and prepares to separate his companions, but something keeps him glued to the ground.

Allen’s dark expression is ripe and flustered. His knife-like eyes glint against his crimson cheeks, and his small mouth is split from the sides, resembling a snake’s jaw. Spawning high-quality insults, he huffs and puffs, sending Yuu’s long bangs flying all around his face. The sight is comical. Yuu returns the aggression like the warrior he is, and they raise their voices to attack each other verbally, turning the campsite into a noisy battlefield. Even if they remain from physical contact, their display of emotions is strangely captivating. Lavi observes it, previous thoughts forgotten.

His companions have gotten closer since he last saw them. Lavi wonders when and how that happened, or if it’s something he just never paid attention to. What a poorly-made job. A smile crawls over his face, and he leans against his cupped hands. He used to be there, putting an end to these silly spats when he was done laughing at them—now he prefers staying aside, just watching.

“Oi, stupid Rabbit! What the hell are you smirking at?” Oh dear. Yuu has switched targets. He is now stomping towards him. Lavi is barely able to register the change of situation before a large canteen is shown into his face. It doesn’t hurt, but he blinks at it in confusion.

“Take the damn water,” Yuu orders. “Hope you have the food ready because the Beansprout is going ballistic.”

“Go to hell, Kanda!” Allen screams, and Yuu’s small eyes threaten to pop out their sockets—another heavy canteen has been slammed against the back of his head. Lavi can only stare and move behind a safe distance before Yuu lets his inner oni out. He explodes like a vengeful spirit, and another, even more furious round begins.

“Eh, right. I’ll finish the meal. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Now, right away,” Lavi rambles, forcing himself to ignore the homely hysterics. He finishes preparing the remaining ingredients and fills the pot with water and herbs, hanging it over the fire with few difficulties. Satisfied, he stretches his long limbs, and the corners of his mouth climb up. The warm smell is starting to caress his nasal nerves.

Unlike the campfire, the furnace inside Allen and Yuu dies down after a while. Their argument relents into an exchange of one-word insults, and Johnny pulls them apart for a lecture. They promise to behave for the rest of the night. Yuu disappears somewhere, but Allen is quick to notice that Lavi is at the final phase of the cooking. He dashes to him like a teenager who has just spotted his crush, and he crouches by the fire, staring intently at the boiling pot that makes his nose bounce. He looks funny—like a predator stalking its meal, eyes shining and all. Lavi could draw him whiskers if he had a marker.

“You weren’t skimping, were you?” Allen asks, voice deadly serious. It’s such a stark contrast to his expecting expression that Lavi cannot help but laugh. He tilts his head sideways, adoring his companion’s quirkiness.

“I had a feeling you would appreciate a good feast, so I used up all of our carrots. Yuu will complain, but he’ll just have to deal with it.” Lavi notices a piece of cloth peeking from Allen’s crossed arms. It looks like a small bag, and the fresh smell of fish invading the air gives him an idea. “You wouldn’t have happened to catch anything we could fry?” he asks, drumming his fingers against his knees.

Allen flashes him a pearly grin. He tosses the bag to Lavi, presenting him six small trout. Protein! Finally! They pick up suitable sticks and impale the fish next to the fire. As thanks, Lavi sneaks his companion a spared carrot, and overjoyed Allen makes his smaller body comfortable next to him. For a while they just sit there, talking about their day and other casual topics.

Then Allen mentions his plans for tonight.

“I was thinking we could all take a bath afterwards. There’s a lake nearby with warm water and a nice shallow shore,” he says with a calm, calculative voice. Lavi can tell he is watching him even if his eyes follow the flames of the campfire. “Well, Kanda has probably rushed there already...”

A bath, eh? Lavi guesses he could take a quick dip. Little later, perhaps. Others could wash themselves first, he is in no rush. He could even do it in the morning! It’d be a good way to start the day, refreshing and practical!

Lavi continues musing aloud, and Allen lets out a quiet sigh. He leans closer and sniffs, only to cry out and bounce back as if he had been sprayed in the eye. “God, you STINK!” That’s it—no more ‘quick dips!’” he declares, pinching his nose to prevent it from escaping. “You’re getting cleaned, and it’ll happen tonight! Not tomorrow or at the morning— _tonight_!”

Lavi blinks. He tries smelling his armpit, but his face twists in disgust even before he has managed to lift it. Hey, it’s not his fault they haven’t had a chance to bathe in days! Allen and Yuu are just as guilty as him! Except… he is not so sure about Allen. How the Beansprout manages to keep that white hair clean is a mystery of the century. And while Yuu can smell like a pile of dong, he always looks good enough to pass for a princess. It’s unfair— _so very unfair_...

Crocodile tears are useless. Lavi notices that Allen is watching him oddly; he knows that look, and the tranquillity he has desperately tried to keep up starts dissolving.

“Lavi,” Allen calls out, voice serious again. “I know it’s difficult, but you’ll have to get properly cleaned. It really can’t be postponed anymore.” His gaze lowers and stops on Lavi’s shirt, and Lavi can feel—physically feel—his eyes on its ragged, greyed canvas. He stops breathing, and once again, his limbs start closing in on his body. _It’s okay_ , he tries reassuring himself. _They are not really there._ Touching him and his grey-blue shirt, which he has been wearing for months.

“You’ll have to get rid of that too.”

Lavi wants to argue back, tell Allen he’s making a hill out of a molehill—but he can’t. He doesn’t want to talk about this, doesn’t want to think about it. But Allen is right. Lavi knows he has been, and still is, a coward. He knows exactly what’s going on but hasn’t done anything to stop it.

Pathetic.

“If it helps,” Allen interrupts, “I’m sure Kanda wouldn’t mind giving you a hand. He is good at being around without saying anything. No remarks or funny looks. It feels as if he wasn’t there at all, and you—“

It’s too much for Lavi.

“No, Allen. Please.” His voice is tiny and vulnerable, and it puts immediate stop to Allen’s persuasions. The invading eyes leave his shirt and move to the ground in front of them. When Lavi has calmed down enough to dare a peek, he sees that Allen’s mouth is clasped shut and his soft lips have tightened into a thin line. He is chewing his bottom lip and fumbling with his mismatched thumbs.

“It’s alright if you’d rather do it yourself. But please, get it done today. I don’t want you getting sick and withering away,” Allen finally says. He sounds like he hasn’t slept for days. His shoulders have fallen down, collapsed, and his whole being feels different, unnaturally unguarded. His colourless eyes are clear and shining with several different, conflicting emotions.

At that moment, something stirs inside Lavi. He nearly stops breathing and thinking. Because no way. This is _Allen_ fucking _Walker_... and Allen Walker has just allowed him to see something. It’s both mesmerizing and horrifying, shaking the imaginary glass that has always existed between the two of them.

The glass that Lavi has always been able to see but feared to break.

Allen notices. He starts repairing the cracks but stops and hesitates. The younger boy looks at Lavi with those big, searching eyes, as if Lavi could either shatter or put him together. He raises his right, no, his left hand, touching Lavi’s face and pulling aside his dry, red hair, despite its dirtiness.

And Lavi _almost_ leans to that touch, _almost_ lest Allen shatter the glass separating them. But it’s not Allen’s hand touching him anymore.

It’s a hand larger and darker, equipped with long, bony fingers and shiny, black fingernails. It smells of cologne and intestines, and it’s fondling him—his face, his hair, his eyes, his neck...

He can hear laughing.

In an instant, Lavi winces and jerks away. His eye twitches and flutters, trying to get rid of the haunting images and voices. When he returns to the present, Allen too has withdrawn.  His hand lingers in the air, but his expression is ghostly and pained. Lavi feels horrible.

The glass between them is back together, cracks fixed and strengthened—the only thing shattered is Allen on the other side.

“Allen...” Lavi chokes. Fuck. “I’m so sorry...”

Allen looks down, moving his offending arm as far as possible. As if it was toxic. He smiles a sad, calm smile. “You do not need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” Suddenly the sides of his mouth bounce higher, and he closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to mollify the situation. With that happy camouflage, he continues repeating kind and encouraging words. Lavi has to swallow his quilt to look like he believes him; he cannot let himself hurt Allen any more than this.

The scarf and its additional loop burn his neck like melt metal.

 

\----

 

Damn that Rabbit. The soup was too salty and too heavy. How much butter had he sunken into it? And there was this stinging, disgustingly sweet taste everywhere. It had to be the carrots—he couldn’t taste anything but salt, grease, and the sweetness of the carrots. That idiot must have emptied their bags AGAIN! Didn’t he understand how much that shit cost and what they’d have to do to cover it?

Goddammit. Yuu Kanda wasn’t brooding and definitely not complaining because of food.

He refused to say anything and continued sipping his portion as quietly as possible. The others seemed fine with the overcooked mess, making light-hearted conversation as they ate. Johnny was explaining how he had updated his golem with new features, and Kanda listened with one ear—he couldn’t really care when the only persons he could contact were these guys and his teacher. The pig, also known as the Beansprout or Allen, was devouring everything in his sight with his usual appetite. No one could make any sense of his speech when his mouth was constantly full, and Kanda wanted to poke his cheek to see if it would empty like a balloon. _It probably would._ At arm’s length from him sat the Rabbit, repeating those same old jokes he always did. Kanda wouldn’t have paid it any mind, had the Beansprout been targeted at least _once_ —now it just made him roll his eyes.

The idiot should have made soba instead of babying the hog. Why was he playing favourites?

Despite the slight frustrations that hung in the air, the meal ended in peaceful manners. Everyone set their dishes aside for later cleaning and left to perform their individual rituals.

Kanda was a practical person—instead of slacking off, he wanted to make sure their camp was in decent condition before retiring for the night. He was in the middle of organizing their supplies when he spotted Allen and Johnny crawling out of their tent with fresh clothes and bathing equipment. He immediately dropped his task. He cracked his knuckles and made his way towards them, following them in the direction of the lake.

 

Sensing a nearing presence, Allen spun around. “Kanda, _what_ the hell are you doing?” he asked with narrowed eyes. The renewed snappiness made Kanda scowl in return.

They were going to the lake, and he was obviously going with them. He had already washed himself since he didn’t like company, but he would watch Allen and Johnny’s backs as they bathed. They would be living targets if someone spotted them, and Kanda couldn’t understand why Allen didn’t seem to get this simple fact. The Beansprout had gone back into his boar mode, accusing him of… WHAT?

The quick exchange of words turned into a heated discussion so embarrassing Kanda wanted to rip his ears off. He ended up returning to the camp and hiding behind the tents, hands clenched into fists as his face cooled down. It was stupid and ridiculous, and the Beansprout was obviously out of his mind. And a pervert.

How dare he accuse him of _stalking_?! Kanda would have rather rolled in shit than bathed with him, so why would he ever... URGH!

He spent ten to fifteen minutes raging and suffering internally.

When the worst had passed, Kanda crossed his legs and rested his hands in his lap, breathing in and out slowly. Meditation was like a drug when you got used to it, and to him, it was a necessity. It helped him to get rid of those pesky, unwelcome emotions that got stuck into his head and bounced off his skull’s walls. It helped in burying the anger and dispelling the embarrassment—it helped him to reset and to disappear.

Kanda didn’t time his meditation. His concentration was broken by the shuffling in the background. It was familiar enough not to put him on alert, but distracting enough to prevent him from relaxing again. Lavi was pacing back and forth around the camp, digging through their bags and sniffling. It continued for a good while, and just as Kanda was about to tell him to stop, those restless steps moved into his way. He whipped his head into the intruder’s direction and gave him a dark look, mouth twisted into a growl.

“What?”

Lavi froze in his place like a mouse caught by a cat. “Nothing. Really. Just wanted to see what you were up to. A-ha-ha…” He scratched the back of his head, the dry sound adding to his rodent-like grin. Kanda snorted.

“I’m trying to meditate as you can see perfectly well. If you don’t have anything important to say, be quiet and piss off.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lavi waved a hand in the air, the fidgety behaviour already replaced by his typical carelessness. He sat to Kanda’s right side and cracked his joints, pretending to relax. However, Kanda caught his only visible eye peeking into his direction every now and then. What the hell was he up to now? Kanda tried glaring at him, but if he as much as shifted his weight, Lavi immediately looked away, pretending nothing had happened. It was irritating as hell! Kanda’s rage started flaring up, but before it could blow off, Lavi dropped the act. “Yuu… can I ask you something? Why don’t you wash with others?”

It certainly wasn’t what Kanda had expected.

Kanda blinked. Then frowned and blinked again. Lavi didn’t tend ask permission to mock him. It was a strange question, and he was still trying to figure out if it was some kind of ploy when Lavi continued.

“I mean, it’s not like we had private baths at the Order. Did something change?”

Kanda’s face fell. How was he supposed to answer something like that? He still wasn’t getting what Lavi was trying to say, but the look on the Rabbit’s face seemed sincere. Lavi had finally managed to collect enough courage to look at him, and his eye was brushing over his naked torso, stopping on the tattoo on his chest. Kanda let out a frustrated huff.

“I never liked bathing together, and I still don’t. It’s a hassle. I don’t need others trying to be funny or smart when I just want to get cleaned—that’s it.” Well, most of it. “The Beansprout is the worst, and the mere thought of his comments pisses me off.”

There. Hope it answered the Rabbit’s question. He didn’t know what else he could say (or what he wanted to). He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Lavi to either leave or continue rambling.

“At least you are not shy about strutting around half-naked,” Lavi mumbled, his eye still on Kanda’s torso. It narrowed, and he looked to be in deep thought, sucking and wetting his lips, making stupid sounds with them. Kanda was about to send him running to other side of the camp when he suddenly added, “But I guess it’s okay as long as you don’t harm others… or yourself.” He started rambling about something strange and philosophical… and Kanda couldn’t follow through it. Not at all. The only thing he got was that the Rabbit wasn’t joking. His voice was way too soft and humourless. Kanda had to confirm that he wasn’t, indeed, making fun of him.

It was still strange. “What happened to your idiocy, and why are you talking like an old man?” Kanda asked, cocking his eyebrow sceptically. It was the Rabbit’s turn to blink now. He raised his head like a startled hare, then laughed sheepishly. His green eye dimmed and half closed, focusing on nothing in particular.

“To think I’d be talking to good old Yuu like this,” Lavi chuckled, rubbing his flat cheek. “Something must be really wrong with me tonight.”

Kanda refrained from commenting. He had no idea what was going on in that loose head of his comrade’s. However, there was one thing that he had been suspecting since that disappointment of a dinner. “Did you have a fight with the Beansprout? Is that why he was acting as if someone had thrown up on his Birthday cake?”

The Rabbit could have as well been shot in the face.

He sat there, frozen like an ice sculpture, fingers and toes his only moving parts—and then he melted. His mouth eased around the edges, and he leaned on his knees, looking oddly content and out-of-place. “I’m happy Allen has someone looking after him,” he said, voice warm and heavy, as if it was coming from somewhere deep.

Once again, Kanda had _absolutely no idea_ what he was talking about! And instead of clarifying anything, the Rabbit got up and started hopping back to their belongings, leaving him baffled in the dark. Without turning around, Lavi saluted and waved. “Thanks, Yuu! It was nice to have a chat, just the two of us!” Kanda could only stare at him as if he had grown a second head.

What the hell had all that been?

He felt odd. As if he’d been tricked nevertheless.

 

\----

Stirring whistling fills the air as Lavi marches forward. In his arms, a pile of fresh clothes is ready for action. He took off as soon as Allen and Johnny returned, fuelled by his new-found determination. Today he’ll be fixing his sorry state, and no one will be able to say anything for weeks! No—for _months!_

The talk with Yuu has lifted his spirits. Lavi feels silly for not doing this until now. For a brief moment, he even considered letting Yuu accompany him—but nah. It would have been awkward. Still too awkward. Besides, another person’s presence could easily make him chicken out; he is used to being a disappointment.

Lavi has seen Allen’s scars, the new ones that skewer his stomach. They never talk about them. They are similar to the ones Allen gave Tyki and the one that nearly cut off his shoulder… and Lavi has an idea how Allen might have acquired them. But the thing is, Allen doesn’t hide them; sure, he doesn’t walk around showing them off, but he still strips if the situation calls for it. And Yuu! Yuu, for whatever reason, doesn’t scar like normal people. But Lavi knows he hates his tattoo and dislikes exposing it—and yet he didn’t freak out when Lavi stared at it openly.

They all have their faults. Seeing the others take the attention so well encourages Lavi, and he has decided to make sure that he will return with a thicker skin.

It doesn’t take long before the promised lake is in front of him. Lavi spends a moment just taking everything in. The dark water seems calm and clean, shimmering beautifully in the middle of the thick forest barrier. The landscape is coloured in vibrant blue hue, making it look colder than it actually is. Like a winter scenery. It emits a thrilling, supernatural feeling, thanks to the moon hovering over it like a gigantic crystal ball. Lavi, not being able to decide if that’s ominous or ethereal, swears the moon has grown in size. He spots footprints in the sand and figures they must belong to his companions. Perfect!

Lavi starts by setting down his clothes and kicking off his boots—and, oh boy, it’s easier than he thought! Motivated, he starts removing his other clothes, but the fresh air starts licking his revealed skin, and it’s not so warm anymore. He is getting slightly uncomfortable, and his enthusiasm vanishes like sweat in a cold weather. Not cool. Not good.

He could just jump right in. Wash himself with clothes on. It’s fast, and he has done it before, several times in fact.

Lavi raises his hands and beats the sides of his head. _No!_ He has promised to do this properly! No more skipping the uncomfortable.

He takes off his scarf and bandanna, and his red hair splashes over his vision. He swipes it away with a growl, irritated how much it has grown. It’s long and tangled like the bristles of a broom, and its stiff dreads scratch the back of his neck. It must look hideous. He needs a cut as soon as possible.

He slides out of his dusty pants and sets them aside, but his shirt is more difficult. Lavi fumbles with it uneasily. Allen hasn’t been the only one to complain about it, and he understands why—it’s hideous and ugly, and even “worn-out” would be positively exaggerated. It’s torn from several places, and there are old and new stains all over it.

Now, don’t get him wrong—he has tried, really tried, washing this shirt. But he hasn’t fully removed it since the night he joined his friends again.

It’s the same blue shirt he left the Order with.

Lavi feels a lump rising in his throat. His naked legs start to tremble, and he has to steady them so that he wouldn’t topple over. His head is like a pressure cooker, and he coughs and gags before he manages to regain the control. He swallows, forcing the bad feeling down to where it came from.

Not now. He’s getting himself cleaned. _He is_.

Lavi sinks his nails into the shirt, biting into his bottom lip so hard he tastes iron. He inhales through his nose. Clenching more firmly on the fabric, he rips it off with one swift, forceful move. Done. Finally done. His torso starts tingling with all kinds of sensations, and he hisses and throws away the article that has been covering it for so long.

It’s fine. He doesn’t have to look at it anymore. He just has to wash himself and get into his new clothes.

His legs weight like a ball and chain, but Lavi drags himself towards the water. He starts fumbling with the string of his eyepatch—because he is doing this properly, and he is getting every single spot of his body cleaned, purified.

Finally, he reaches the water, and the patch comes down. His last piece of clothing is gone, and he couldn’t be more relieved. He is finally doing this, he is finally getting—

He stops.

The moonlight, it’s strong. Too strong.

The water surrounding him is too shiny and too clear.

_He can see himself on it._

The reflection, it’s as sharp as a mirror’s—and Lavi has avoided mirrors like plague.

The shirt, once sky blue, now paled and ragged on the shore. He has avoided removing it for a reason. He already knew what was underneath, but _he didn’t need to see it_.

He didn’t want to see it! Because, now, _he can never unsee it._

He didn’t know… He didn’t know his hair had grown that long. He didn’t know he had lost that much weight. He didn’t know which marks had healed and which were going to stay. The sight of that ghastly, butchered human body is enough to shatter all of his mental barriers. The images he’s forced to remember start to live around him.

He sees hands, lots of hands, and hears voices. Some he recognizes, others he doesn’t. He shuts his eyes and covers his ears—because NO, those aren’t real! He knows they aren’t! But that doesn’t stop him from seeing, and hearing, and smelling, and tasting, and feeling…

Are they memories or nightmares? Are they real or something he has imagined? He doesn’t know—he cannot separate them anymore. He remembers everything up to the most gruesome detail.

Every. Single. Thing.

He hears the Noahs’ questions, the shouts, and the yelling. And their laughter. Something sharp is sculpting his side, just below his ribs. God. Those sick bastards. Mix of his own sweat and blood goes down his throat along with something hard and bumpy. Urgh… his tooth.

And those things… those fucking things that are inside him. He can feel them moving and squirming all over his body, in-between his organs and right below his skin. It hurts—fuck, it hurts so damn much—but the worst is that feeling. That _feeling of being slowly eaten from the insid_ e. God, he cannot even scratch himself! Because his hands have stopped moving a long time ago. He would scream if he could muster anything besides a pathetic whimper.

Just… could they just stop that laughter?

Suddenly, his hands are working. He knows he can scream again. Someone will come! But it wouldn’t be Gramps… and, shit, no, NO! He doesn’t want anyone, ANYONE to see him or touch him when he is like this!

He presses his shaky hands to his mouth, suffocating the noise that wants out. Please, please, please, don’t let Allen, or Yuu, or anyone hear him! He feels the tremors, the fits fighting against the hold of his hands, and presses harder, so hard his cheeks and jaw will surely bruise.

His torso is still tingling as if someone was drawing on it with a needle, digging deeper and deeper and cutting it apart. And Lavi can’t take it anymore.

He dives into the water and submerges below the surface. There, right there where it’s cold and quiet, he can finally let go of his lips and release the pain. Because no one will hear and come to see what is left of his pathetic self.

At least he doesn’t have to remember the voice of his screams.

 

\----

 

“Kanda... he’s been gone for thirty minutes now.”

Kanda let out a breath through his nose, rolling his eyes for the hundredth time. Just as it was getting peaceful again, the Beansprout had to start panicking. Good—fucking—bye, meditation. “Shut up, it’s a damn bath! Even that idiot is capable of swimming should he wander too deep,” he lashed out angrily. The longer Lavi was gone the better—it raised the chances he’d get rid of his status as a walking thrash can.

Allen wasn’t convinced. “What if he has hurt himself? Or if he is having difficulties?” The Beansprout looked physically uncomfortable, as if he was sitting on an iced bench instead of grass. The clothes he had changed into were baggy and made his hunched form ridiculous and unnerving, like the clown suit he had worn as a disguise. He kept fussing with that unnatural hair of his, and the demonic mark on his face throbbed like a vein that was trying to crawl out his skin. He was supposed to be fine—but instead of calming down for the night, he was getting worked up.

Kanda massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Look... if you are so worried about the Rabbit, why don’t you go bother him? It’d be more productive than crying here.” He could tolerate Allen’s presence and exchanging few words with him, but whining was out of question—especially when it was about something stupid. And whining about the Rabbit _not returning in few minutes_ WAS stupid! Had it been a bigger deal, the Beansprout would have already dashed into the woods.

The Rabbit was a major pain and even bigger idiot than the Beansprout. But he, at least, kept his shit where it belonged. If he whined, it was fake, and if he wanted to whine for real, he didn’t. Kanda appreciated the habit—he wasn’t anyone’s mother, and he expected them to deal with their own problems.

To some degree, at least.

If the Rabbit (or the Beansprout) asked something, Kanda would complain—complain but help, if it wasn’t anything stupid. Because the Rabbit (unlike the Beansprout) never asked anything but stupid favours, and if he did, it was likely important.

Damn, he was getting angry again…

He didn’t hate Lavi, just as he didn’t hate Allen (not much, at least). He considered them his comrades over fellow Exorcists. That hadn’t always been the case, but Kanda couldn’t pull the “fellow Exorcist” card anymore. He was the only one who still had any connection to the Order; ironic, considering how many fucks he gave about the organization. Despite his loyalty, Allen had been expelled and hunted by it, and Lavi didn’t have his Innocence anymore. He hadn’t specified what had happened to it, but Kanda figured it must have been destroyed a long time ago.

A silent growl rose from the bottom of his throat. Kanda shifted his weight, a frustrating shiver passing through his body. Fuck… he was not worried about the Rabbit! The Beansprout’s fidgeting was getting passed on to him!

Allen flashed him a pained look before returning his glassy eyes to the distance. “I want to help him, but... I can’t. You know how well my offers have been received.” He had crossed his hands into his lap, and his fingers kept fidgeting and tapping against each other. His lips were pale and dry, and he kept licking them like a lizard, picking and tasting his words carefully. “Lavi doesn’t want my help, and I don’t want to force it on him. It would just make things more complicated.”

As if they weren’t already. Kanda sighed.

“Then leave him be.” If the Beansprout kept mulling over this, the conversation would drag on, and they’d be running around the campsite like freaked-out chickens by the time the Rabbit arrived. How’d that help _anyone?_

“It’s just... I don’t know what’s happening to him,” Allen continued despite Kanda’s warnings. “He doesn’t say anything. He was in really bad shape when we found him, and I know it’s only been what—three and half weeks?—but he still doesn’t look much better. He doesn’t let me near and refuses to see a doctor.”

Allen looked old. Much older than he was, and the white hair didn’t help the image. His hands had moved into it, and he grasped and pulled on it as if he was in pain. His voice was also different, high and raw, wavering; something had been removed from it.

“He looks so thin and starved, and he gets tired so easily. I’m afraid of him collapsing. And...” he kept a small pause and took a deep breath. “That night we got him back… He didn’t sleep. Instead, he asked for a first aid kit. And a needle. And thread. Alcohol, too.” Kanda’s eyebrows climbed up. Allen’s speech was getting more and more tangled and agitated as he neared the climax of the memory.

“He... he must have treated, even sewn them. His own wounds.”

Okay. Even by Kanda’s standards, that sounded… damn. He was about tell Allen to stop digging up things, but the boy wasn’t finished.

“I wanted to help him. Force him out of that room and get rid of his ruined clothes. See the damage myself.” He was speaking with a distant voice, and Kanda didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. It was barely visible, but Allen was now shaking. “But Lavi wouldn’t let me. He watched me like a lunatic, a prey animal. Ready to run at the slightest movement. Had I been stupid enough to try touching him or forcing him into anything, he wouldn’t have just protested—he would’ve fought, even in that state.”

His hands had stopped shaking. Allen raised his head, and Kanda could finally see his face again. He was trying to form some kind of protective expression, but it was failing. Like a ghost that couldn’t remember its face. The voice that flew out of him sounded unnatural and broken.

“Can you believe it? He still trusted us. He’d been there over four months, done to God knows what... and I hadn’t known anything about it.”

Kanda realized he was growling and squishing the grass into his fists, tearing it off. His anger had been awoken, but not because he wanted to beat his younger comrade into pulp and release him from his teeth. No—he was furious because the Beansprout was _absolutely right_! They hadn’t known a shit about Lavi’s situation for months! No one at the Order had bothered telling the traitor or a “dead” Exorcist about their missing comrade. It made his blood boil so hard it was a wonder his veins didn’t burst.

They’d left him there. For _four fucking months_! The Order, the Beansprout—and him.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! He couldn’t do this right now!

His top priority was the Beansprout. Allen was blaming himself for the things that were beyond his control, just like half of the Order or those delusional monsters. It was fucked up, and it creeped Kanda out even more than Lavi’s condition—at least, Lavi was still here and not in the danger of disappearing.

Making up his mind, Kanda searched his pocket until he found a small, pointy item. He whirled it at Allen who caught it by reflex, eyes batting in confusion. It was a traditional Japanese comb, plain and carved from ebony.

“Stop beating yourself over every damn thing,” Kanda huffed. He whipped his long black hair over his shoulders and let it settle against his back like fine cloth. He then turned away from Allen and cleared up his throat, embarrassment already creeping up. “Hurry up and do something to this mess. It’s dripping like a tap, and I’m too pissed to straighten it myself.”

He couldn’t see the Beansprout’s reaction, and he didn’t want to. Kanda hated it when others touched his hair, and him offering something like this was unheard of. Allen, of course, understood it too. It took a moment before Kanda could hear him shifting closer, and his body stiffened instinctively. He didn’t like this, but he kept reminding himself that it was the lesser of two evils. It better be…

Slowly, Allen’s hands took a hold of Kanda’s hair, taking their time just feeling it. His movements were tender and careful like a surgeon’s, and he started untangling the messy strands, knot by knot. Kanda let him. He sat there like a barrel filled with stones, hunched and fingers buried into his knees, primal fear fighting against the calm on the surface. He would allow it—but even the Gods couldn’t help the Beansprout if he dared to make fun of him. Fortunately, they were wrapped into a deep, mutual silence, and Allen continued combing him. “I can’t believe you are letting me do this,” was the only thing passing his lips.

Kanda rolled his eyes, but his mouth slipped into a satisfied smirk—his plan of getting Allen into a better mood had succeeded. The sweet taste of victory made even those foreign hands in his hair less unpleasant. He could _almost_ enjoy the sensation.

It didn’t take long for their redheaded comrade to return. Lavi looked overall better, but Kanda could immediately tell that something wasn’t quite right. He appeared from the back of the camp, walking unnaturally slowly and swaying in his steps. His wet hair was long, and without support of his trademark bandanna, it drooped over his face like a thick curtain, hiding half of it. The headwear was lying on a pile of washed-up clothes hanging from his arms, and when Lavi noticed Kanda and Allen staring at him, he stopped in his tracks and almost dropped the it. His mouth twitched and twisted into a forced smile. “I did it! I took a proper bath!” he rejoiced, but his weak voice betrayed the emotion. This little slip seemed to mortify him, and he shut down, standing there like a broken robot. Eventually he recovered enough to turn his head away.

“Sorry... but I’d like to be alone.”

Kanda felt Allen moving and grabbed his hand, keeping them both seated on the ground. The Beansprout flashed him a worried look but, thank God, managed to keep his mouth shut. The tension hanging in the air was like bad smell, thick and impossible to avoid. Lavi was shifting his feet around nervously, still avoiding eye contact. Few minutes passed before he managed to muster enough courage to move again. He hastened to the other side of the tents and settled down by the still burning campfire, snapping his legs together and curling into himself. Like a small animal.

Kanda slowly let go off Allen’s hand. The Beansprout was staring at the Rabbit intently, and his breath was hitching as if he was in pain, conflicted. Shifting his gaze between his two comrades, Kanda tried to keep the irritated little men inside him in check. He was getting tired of these mixed messages. “What are you waiting for? Go!” he hissed, slapping Allen’s arm and motioning him into Lavi’s direction.

“I can’t. He doesn’t want me there.”

“I don’t care what he wants! _You_ want to do something for him, so get your ass up and do it!” It wasn’t that difficult.

Allen was gnawing at his lips, but the look on his face had transformed into something harder. Kanda recognized it immediately—the Beansprout turned into a fierce strategist when he was planning on something. Just as Kanda was about to ask about it, Allen revealed his cards. “I think _you_ should go to him this time.”

Kanda’s jaw dropped. He went on a blinking marathon before the light in his head started working again. “Are you mad?!” he exclaimed with a hiss. No one in their right mind would think that he, Yuu Kanda, was capable of emotional support. Hugging, or giving massages, or... _anything!_ The Beansprout had lost his fucking mind!

“I’m completely sane!” Allen barked. His hands twitched aggressively, but instead grabbing into Kanda, he dragged them over own his cheeks. He seemed to be reasoning with himself. “Look... it’s complicated, but he doesn’t want me there, not right now. He knows I cannot sit still while he is in pain—but you can.”

He met Kanda’s dubious gaze—not with the usual fire, but with those hard and determined eyes he flashed at his enemies when he was trying to negotiate with them. He wasn’t looking for a fight. “Please. He doesn’t look well.” It wasn’t a plea.

The glowing flames were scratching the air and killing the cold in it. Despite sitting so close to the source of the heat, Lavi’s frame was visibly shaking. Kanda eyed the sparkling goldfish hair descending down his neck and shoulders; compared to the wild sheep that usually sat on his head, it was sleek and clean, making him look smaller. Beaten. He wasn’t sure when he had starting moving closer to Lavi, but he found himself standing just a few steps away from his wall-like back. This would have been a perfect chance to smack him—but Allen’s words echoed at the back of his mind, and he was reminded of his earlier conversation with the idiot. It had already felt off...

Something moved in front of Lavi’s hunched form, and Kanda shifted his head to have a better look. Lavi wasn’t sitting still but reaching his arm out, as if he was trying to grasp something from the thin air. There was a weird, empty look in his eerily grey eye, but he wasn’t completely unresponsive to his surroundings. He started shifting closer and closer to the fire, so close that Kanda could barely make out the details of his face because it was being scorched away by the flames’ strong glow.

What the hell?

Kanda snatched something he had managed to pull out of their supply bags and dropped it on Lavi. The taller man flinched as if a bucket of spikes had been poured over him.

“It’s a blanket, idiot. You’ll catch cold if you sit here the whole night.”

Squirming under the large canvas, Lavi seemed to return to the Earth. Blinking, he eyed and felt the blanket in his long fingers. His face flashed with recognition, and his shrunken mouth grew back into its typical size. “Thanks, Yuu,” he replied, smiling shortly, and snuggled into the soft cloth, wrapping it around himself more securely.

Lavi’s skin was red and sparkly from the lake water and sweat—but even with the new blanket, he continued trembling. He twitched and flinched as if he was being shot at a stable pace, pain evident in his involuntary movements.  Eventually he stopped trying to hide it and settled for hugging himself. The struggle was frustrating to watch; Kanda couldn’t figure out the exact reason for it, but even he wasn’t oblivious enough to think that Lavi was just cold.

Seeing no point in agitating the pitiful man, Kanda decided that he wouldn’t pry and focused on the fire instead—it, at least, seemed to relieve his comrade’s distress. “What’s with the fire?” he asked, half-interested if Lavi would actually answer. A good choice. Lavi’s tense form softened, and he hummed positively.

“It... reminds me of things.”

The words were cryptical. Kanda stole a quick glance at Lavi who was now basking in the heat radiating from the blazing energy. The lights and shadows drew patterns on his face, and it was difficult to make sense of his real expression; he seemed apathetic but could have, just as well, been grinning like a lunatic. “I’m wondering if it could burn away something,” he said, a cloud of breath slithering out of his mouth.

 _Burn away?_ Kanda didn’t know what that could possible mean.

But he understood that, to Lavi, fire was something familiar—something positive and safe. He had a pretty good guess what he could associate it with, but the burning part didn’t make sense.

He had to remind himself that this was _Lavi_ he was trying to figure out. If turned off his imbecile mode, Lavi was one of the most complex people that Kanda knew. Most of the time he couldn’t tell what the other was thinking, and Lavi seemed to enjoy keeping him in the dark with indirect comments, knowing he wouldn’t be able to figure them out. This frustrated Kanda to no end—he couldn’t get into others’ heads like a certain shitty Noah. And speaking of the Noahs...

Only now did Kanda realize that Lavi had actually managed to switch into a new shirt. It was yellow like pale mustard and had orange stripes trailing its seams, blending into the fiery glow. Johnny had purchased it soon after they had gotten Lavi back, and because most of his clothes had to be thrown away, he had though the bright colours would cheer him up. Only Lavi’s bandanna and scarf had been spared... and that damn rag of a shirt.

The pile of Lavi’s wet clothes had been dumped to the side of the campfire; he hadn’t bothered to hang them up. Kanda eyed the pile critically. He could see that damned shirt peeking out, taunting him.

Lavi wasn’t going to talk to him, and there was nothing Kanda could do about it—but there was something he _could_ do that wasn’t sitting still.

He stomped to the pile and ripped out that travesty of a shirt, whipping it through the air like a mouldy sack. He rolled it into a small ball, squishing out the excess water, and fiddled it in his fingers. He was unable to decide if he should strangle it or avoid touching it. But he knew exactly what to do with things like this. A feral grin tore into his face as he flexed his arm and flung the shirt into the campfire. The flames hissed aggressively against the damp cloth, devouring their newest victim with the vigour of piranhas.

Startled by the sudden turn of events, Lavi shrieked and scrambled backwards. Mouth hanging open, he stared at the burning tatters that had once been his cover and prison. Was he relieved or scared? Sad, perhaps? Kanda couldn’t tell—but he was convinced that this was for the best. Cleaning his hands on his pants, he chuckled in satisfaction. The troublesome shirt was gone for good.

“I don’t know what you wanted to burn away, but _that thrash_ needed to go.” He nearly slapped Lavi’s shoulder but realized that it wouldn’t have been like him. The Beansprout could do it later.

Moving away from the campfire, Kanda left the confused man in peace. Allen could be spotted near the tents, and Kanda caught the daggers he was glaring at him, looking like he could either kill him or kiss him. The thought made him snort. Kanda shrugged and gave Allen a finger, but in his mind, he was smirking. Hadn’t the Beansprout wanted him to check on the Rabbit?

Lavi was screwed up, but so were Kanda and Allen. Kanda couldn’t force them to get better, and the only way he could help was his way. It wasn’t being nice; he wasn’t a nice person in general. If Allen had thought that he would have the patience to wait until Lavi’s condition mysteriously improved, he had been gravely mistaken. Kanda couldn’t stand watching when people suffered any more than the Beansprout did, and he was ready to slain some inner demons to ease the process. He couldn’t take away the actual pain, but he could push it into the right direction—or keep them in the right planet.

A sudden, musty wind blew past him. It smelled of something warm and rotten, having picked up a smell of a carcass hidden somewhere in the grass. It also brought along a wave of melancholy, and Kanda allowed himself a moment. The moon was still up, shining brightly, and the grass below his feet had acquired a silvery, metallic layer. The tattoo on his chest throbbed like a second heartbeat, reminding him of past mistakes. Allen had disappeared into his tent, and Johnny was probably already sleeping there. Lavi was still by the campfire, and he would likely stay there for the rest of the night. Something smile-like flashed on Kanda’s face. He let his head drop backwards and locked his eyes with the moon that seemed to judge him.

This time he would protect them.

As long as there was breath in this cursed body of his, he would use it to get his comrades through this journey—and if they wouldn’t, he would take care of that, too. He had sworn to pay back to the Beansprout, and that same dedication also included the Rabbit and Johnny. His comrades.

Fumbling at his pockets, Kanda found his hair string. He gathered his hair and tied it in a ponytail, brushing though the fine, clean strands. The Beansprout had done a decent job. It was nice to get the load off his shoulders, but finding his hair in superb condition was even better. It was as soft and silky as always. Kanda felt proud and content—screw everyone who doubted his skills with soap!

Fresh air made his bare neck tickle irritatingly. For a moment, Kanda thought a loose straw stalk had gotten stuck against it, but as he cast his eyes down, they locked on a small pouch. It was something he had gotten from an old lady not that long ago. Tied around his neck, it felt warm and tender, like a hand of a person. Kanda’s fingers twitched and wrapped around it by a reflex.

He felt an urge to say “good night,” but that wouldn’t have been like him either. Maybe tomorrow—if they were still alive and kicking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. I believe you now have some idea what kind of story this is going to be. Not sure if my attempts at humor amuse anyone but myself, but the more serious scenes should make up for it.
> 
> How did you like my take on Lavi and Kanda? Lavi's mind is burdened by his time in captivity, but his thoughts are grim (and sometimes stupid) in general. Kanda acts differently than he thinks, so he may say something and mean something else. Don't be fooled.  
> Questions? Cheers or grimaces? Noticed a typo or a grammar error? Let me know if there's something. Next time we are having an Allen focused chapter. Theme is nightmares.


	3. Nightmares That Are Real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 26/01/18  
> Important note! I've edited the grammar and the language for chapters 1 and 2! The prologue went through a renovation, but but the story stays mostly same. If you want to read them again, cool, but you can just continue on with this chapter. This is a long one. Summary was also edited.

_“The reason some portraits don’t look true to life is that some people make no effort to resemble their pictures.”_

― Salvador Dali

 

Prickling coldness, the first thing he felt.

His facial muscles were numb, petrified. His cheeks, glued against his cheekbones, felt as if they had been buried under a mound of dead centipedes. His hair, white and lifeless, stuck out from the sides of his head, resembling a field of frozen hay. Sharp pinch awakened nerves he hadn’t known existed, and his nose started to lose its beak-like state.

He inhaled. Icy air filled his throat, piercing it like needles. He coughed and hurt his jaw and lips in the process; he had forced them to operate too soon.

The weight pressing his eyelids was disappearing. He opened them slowly, batting his lashes until they stopped getting stuck together. His head felt empty, as if it was filled with mush and spider webs, and even his surroundings seemed deserted. The grey, humid space around him was wrapped into thick mist, and without light, he could only see what was right in front of him. Breathing was surprisingly difficult, and he realized that he would go back into hibernation if he didn’t focus.

Where was he again?

He couldn’t remember—being trapped in mist sure made spotting helpful landmarks challenging. He was still cold, and his lungs felt as if they had been dragged over a grater. Feeling was starting to return to his limbs, and he rubbed his fingers against his shaky arms, trying to warm himself up. He was grateful to discover that he was wearing a thick coat, large enough for two or three people.

_Two or three people..._

Realization came like a lightning.

“Johnny!” Allen shouted and glanced around. Someone was supposed to be accompanying him, but there was no sign of another person. Had they gotten separated, or had something happened to his friends?

Where were Kanda and Lavi?

Allen tried listening, but he couldn’t hear anything—no wind, no birds, not a movement of any kind. “Is anyone there? Kanda, Lavi?!” he shouted again, raising his volume. The silent treatment continued, and his mouth got drier and drier as he scanned the lifeless environment. No. He couldn’t stay here. Sucking his lips in, he did what he was best at and started walking.

He needed to find out what had happened to his friends—and to him, for that matter.

Gaining ground proved difficult and annoying. The mist seemed to be trying to wrap around him, as if to pull him back. Allen kept his hands in front of his body, hoping to bump into something, but so far there had been nothing but that dreadful mist slipping past his fingers. It felt like a ghost’s body, something mischievous and half-alive. _Creepy_. He was starting to freak out. What if he was going circles and couldn’t tell? He wasn’t exactly known for his sense of direction. The ground below his feet was hard and dusty, providing no useful clues.

Time seemed to flow strangely in this place. Allen walked and walked, having no idea how long he had been roaming. The view hadn’t changed in the slightest.

Eventually, he had to stop for a breath. His legs were tired and sore, and his respiratory track hissed like a half-dead steam train. He wasn’t in his best condition, and he hadn’t managed to find anything or anyone. At this point he would even welcome Tyki… no, even Levellier’s sour face as long as he could get away from this empty dust land. The only thing he could do was to go forward, and it wasn’t paying off.

Allen’s concerns faded into the background when his ears prickled up. Even if just barely, he could hear something! It was quiet and came from a distance, but it was unmistakably someone’s voice. A human voice. Excited, Allen focused his senses and tried to pinpoint its location. He could hear words, and little by little, they started to make sense.

They repeated a name—Allen’s name.

Allen released the breath he had been holding and started running. His facial muscles protested against their limits, trying to settle on one emotion. Someone he actually knew was here! At that moment everything seemed possible. He could get away from this awful place, to somewhere with food and a warm bed! He didn’t even consider the possibility that the voice’s owner could be an enemy; something about it just felt _right_. But as the voice grew louder, whatever feeling had won inside him was washed off. He stopped as if he had been struck by a sword and drained from blood.

How had he not recognized it sooner?

_“Mana!”_

Allen’s mouth stretched into a cracked cry. A gigantic bubble swelled inside his chest and exploded. His heels kicked off from the ground, and he ran like a frantic animal, not caring if he stumbled on the way.

He needed to get to him. He needed to see him. His Mana.

“Where are you? Please, wait! I’m right here!” Allen cried, trying to catch Mana’s voice. It kept calling him and moving. Its audibility switched between faint and clear, as if it was teleporting or circling him. Why? Couldn’t Mana hear him? His body was starting protest the lack of rest, but Allen refused to slow down. He couldn’t stop before he had found him.

“Allen… Allen!”

Stronger than before, Mana’s voice came from Allen’s left. He nearly knocked himself over when his legs paused on instinct. Swiping off the sweat sliding down his face, he peered into the mist; his eyes were tired and raw, and they had trouble focusing. He was shaking throughout, panting so hard he could have thrown up. Running around had taken the last of his strength, but it wasn’t the strain that made him weak at the knees—it was the familiar presence of Mana.

He was close, so close. He could... he could really find him here. Mana could be right in front of him.

“ALLEN!”

_There!_

Allen threw his hands forward, trying to make a grab at something. His nostrils picked up the familiar, warm scent. _Popcorn and animals. Paint and sweat._ The air around him warmed as he stepped into a spot that had been heated by someone. He could now hear bodily sounds. _Breathing, coughing, steps._ Something brushed past him, and he gasped as if the wind had been knocked out of him. Mana was right beside him!

Unable to hold a giggle, Allen spun around. He leaned forward and leaped into Mana’s direction, arms stretched and open. But he didn’t get far.

Something had caught his ankle. Whether it was a root, an item, or his other foot didn’t matter. What mattered was that he lost his balance and tripped, hard.

For a moment there was only white.

The powder-like dust kept falling over him like snow. It was everywhere, raised into the air and getting mixed into the mist.

Allen recovered shakily. His face was on the ground, and he coughed from the lack of air. Every place hurt. Shifting his weight on his elbows, he tried to get up, but his body refused to rise from the ground. He tried to open his eyes, but the dust made it impossible, sneaking into them and making them sting.

He wanted to cry. Not because his eyes hurt, but because he knew—he just knew—that he had fucked up.

He couldn’t hear Mana’s voice anymore. Gone were the familiar scents and the presence that had been a just a stone’s throw away. It was as silent as when he had woken up.

“Mana...” Allen whimpered, trying to clear the dust from his moistening eyes.

Why hadn’t he been more careful? He could have found him. He could have seen and touched him, like a real, living person.

“I just wanted to see you,” he wailed, choking on his words. “Just once more.” He had managed to sit on his legs, and he coughed up dust and pain, eyes reddening as he continued rubbing them.

How stupid had he been.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“I’m a fool.” A heavy, invisible cross pressed against Allen’s back, reminding that he _should have_ known better. “Of course I couldn’t find you.”

_You do not exist anymore._

Then, as if someone had heard his cries and taken pity on him, a hand landed on his head. Allen flinched instinctively, having not sensed anyone behind him. But for some reason, the gesture didn’t feel offending. No. It was warm and gentle. The hand fiddled with his shaggy hair, stroking it affectively. It kept combing him, and Allen got a feeling that it was trying to cheer him up. Comfort him.

Large beads formed at the corners of his eyes. He sniffled uncontrollably, leaning backwards against the kind touch. He recognized it.

It was the same touch Mana had used on him.

“Mana,” Allen whispered with a ragged breath. He knew, for sure, that this wasn’t real anymore. “Will you go away if I turn around? Is that what this is?”

Mana didn’t answer. Just continued petting him.

Allen’s sniffles turned into sobs. He could sit on this cold, dusty ground forever if he could stay with Mana. He would have given anything to be able to see him, but that just wasn’t possible.

Allen’s hands moved on their own. They took a hold of Mana’s hand and felt its texture, and Mana let them, even wrapping his own, clothed fingers around Allen’s smaller ones. They were large and bumpy, carved by years’ worth of rough performer work. Allen remembered how they had wrapped around balls and bottles before tossing them into the air—a strict contrast to how softly they had held a small child’s hand. At this point, tears were unavoidable. Allen’s body trembled, and he started turning around, holding onto Mana’s hand as if his life depended on it. He kept his eyes closed, praying it would be enough to keep the spell from breaking.

Maybe he would be allowed one embrace.

Eyes squished shut, Allen slid his hands along Mana’s arms, finding the sturdy shoulders connecting them. His grip tightened, and he pulled himself closer, wrapping his arms around Mana’s large body. He sat still for a moment before he dared to bury his face into his coat. How could it be so warm and calming? The happier memories of his childhood filled his mind, and Allen inhaled the coat’s scent as if it was drug. Mana’s hands had shifted to his shoulders, and they rocked his adult body as if it was still as small as back then. Allen felt like he was home for the first time since he had been forced to leave the Order—this was Heaven.

“Isn’t that enough, dear Allen?”

A new voice—but one he recognized just as well. Allen’s eyes shot open.

The coat. It wasn’t Mana’s. No, it was cream-coloured and purple, and its hem was cut into a zigzag-like shape. It smelled of burnt sugar and metal, and Mana _sure as hell_ didn’t own anything like that.

Breath frozen into his throat, Allen pulled away from the other’s lap. His heart pounded against his chest like a panicking prisoner. Mere inches away from his pale face, loomed the stretched, inhuman grin that could only belong to the devil himself. The Millennium Earl let out a hollow chuckle, blowing hot air at the paralyzed Exorcist, emphasizing their closeness.

Allen’s instincts kicked in. He yanked himself away from the Earl, landing on his backside with a thump. There was no time to get comfortable. Summoning his inner thunder, he greeted him with his nastiest expression, converting his fear into hatred. He couldn’t afford to get scared now, even if his skin crawled with goosebumps. “Millennium Earl,” he spat. The name hissed like acid in his mouth.

The creepy clown answered with a chuckle. The Earl rose up, dusting his coat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He tapped the ground with his trusty umbrella and strode closer to Allen, that inhuman grin never leaving his goblin-like face. His gigantic frame towered over Allen’s lying form, and it was clear who was the bird of prey—Allen felt like a poor mole that had caught his interest. The corners of Earl’s mouth stretched when those knife-sized teeth opened. “You look like you have seen a ghost. To what do I own this honour, Allen Walker?”

That... bastard!

The words were fire for Allen’s boiling rage. He jumped on his feet and glared at the Earl. That man—no, that _devil_ —had dared to use his memory of Mana against him. He had dug it up, played on it, and insulted it. _Made a joke out of it_. “How dare you impersonate him!” Allen shouted, making an angry gesture in the Earl’s direction. “You’ve already hurt him in the worst possible way! Would it be too much to ask to leave his memory alone?!”

Something glinted behind Earl’s glasses. He leaned on his umbrella and met Allen’s eyes, peering into them as if he was searching for something. He seemed to like what he found. “Your dedication to your foster father is touching. You are clinging to him even after his second death, protecting what little is left of him. Touching, indeed.” His impossible grin seemed to widen even more when he prepared to inflict more damage. “That dedication ended up granting me a wonderful soul. Pity it was wasted on your ugly Innocence.”

Something snapped inside Allen’s head.

He flung himself at the Earl, fist raised in the air. The Earl’s wall-like hand caught it easily and stopped the punch, but Allen wasn’t finished, going for his collar next. “I never gave you Mana’s soul!” he shouted, having not realized that he’d been screaming the whole length of the attack. “You took advantage of my sorrow and tricked me! Just like all those people who want their loved ones back!” He tried to drag Earl down to his eye-level, but he only managed to lift himself up. It didn’t matter; as long as they were evenly faced, he could say what he wanted to. _The truth._ “You’re nothing but a monster feasting on the others’ pain!”

The Earl’s face seemed to split in two. “A monster? Look who is talking.” He grabbed Allen’s hand and tore it away, keeping him in the place. It happened to be the arm with the Innocence. “Even a child should know that the death cannot be brought back. What I am offering you greedy humans is an impossibility. A miracle!”

Allen snarled and fought against the hold, but the Earl’s grip was like cement. He kicked his puffy legs, trying to move the clown so that he could turn the situation around, but his feet couldn’t connect with anything solid. The Earl didn’t seem too bothered by his protests. He ended up dropping him back to the ground. Allen’s shaky legs didn’t take the surprise well, and he was once again knocked on to his backside. Before he could get up, the Earl continued his speech. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Your sorrow doesn’t change the reality that it was your fault. You brought him back, and you bound his soul to an Akuma because you thought you had some right to him. You thought you were _special_.”

Allen wanted to accuse him of lying and twisting the truth. That’s what the Earl did—lied, lied, and lied! But the denial refused to get vocalized. It vibrated on the tip of his tongue, refusing to come out. The “n” came, the “o” didn’t. He couldn’t say it, but not because the Earl was obviously lying; he couldn’t say it because, at some level, he agreed.

Allen turned his head away. The cold ground looked surprisingly inviting. He was still fuming, but the Earl wasn’t his only target.

He needed to end this. He started activating his Innocence, turning it into a large broad sword. He would take care of the Earl first. The clown, however, studied him without a hint of fear or caution. “You want to erase me with that disgusting thing, just like you erased Mana?” Allen bit his lip and refused to get provoked. There was only one way to end this circle of suffering, even if the Earl in front of him wasn’t real.  

He would have to bear it. Just a little longer.

The Earl’s look-a-like sighed. It spread its arms like an eagle and dropped its head. “You are stuck, Allen,” it stated before lifting its chin, allowing Allen’s sword to strike it where he expected its heart to be.

It had been easy. Except, there wasn’t a sword anymore.

Allen couldn’t comprehend it first—his Innocence had reverted back into its original form. It was the same ugly arm he had been enduring his whole life, covered with something fluffy and ticklish. It was growing small, sprout-like feathers.

The sudden pain shook his body like an electrical shock. Something like a blade or a spear was struck into him. Tyki’s hand and the mutilated body of General Yeegar flashed into his mind when that something wrapped around his insides and started pull them apart. It grew and a split up like a tree, forcing his system into an emergency state. Allen heard his own screams before he realized what was happening.

Why?! Why was his Innocence refusing him? He was trying to slay its enemy, fulfilling his duty as an Exorcist!

 

\----

 

“ALLEN! Please, calm down, Allen!”

The shouting shakes the cottage from the roof to the ground. The window rattles, the door tries to run off. Two men are on the ground, one lying down and another holding him down.

Johnny is pale and tired. His tense hands are trying to keep the unconscious Exorcist, who is trashing and screaming bloody murder, from hurting himself. Allen is not waking up. He resists all attempts of help, and his hands and legs flail around, hitting Johnny and the objects that have been left near. A crash—there goes another favourite cup of his, now shattered to pieces over their makeshift bed. It’s insane, like an open surgery with no anaesthesia.

It’s hopeless to watch.

Lavi fiddles with his fingers, following the situation dragging on. Clock is past two in the morning, and this has been going on for nearly twenty minutes. Poor Allen is still lost in his own mind.

Lavi frowns and rubs his temple—it’s no use getting worked up like this. As frightening as these nightly episodes are, he should have gotten used to them by now. They happen almost every other night.

One of them is always having nightmares.

Finally, there’s some light on the horizon. Allen’s hands stop tremoring, and he stutters Johnny’s name with a choked gasp. His white eyelashes flutter like insect’s legs, trying to repeal the light that is still too intense for his widened pupils. Besides the moonlight, the three candles on the floor are their only means of seeing anything in the black of the night; it’s not much, but enough to rival the darkness inside the boy. Lavi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He watches as Allen grasps into his left arm, trailing it down and gasping when his fingers encounter the hard surface. To Lavi, nothing seems wrong with it—it’s the same red limb it has always been.

“You are finally awake,” Johnny rejoices. He allows his legs to give in, falling on his backside beside Allen. His hand roams over his shoulder, and whether he is trying to calm Allen or himself isn’t clear. He has lost his glasses during Allen’s fit so he has to squint when picking up one of the candles. His bony face looks like a small-eyed dog’s, only lacking a tiny tongue. His invisible tail wags when he sets the light in-between himself and Allen.

Allen examines his surroundings, still clenching his left arm. He notices the broken items, and a shadow crawls over his face. “Was I losing it?” he asks with a tiny voice. Somewhere in the room, Yuu kicks the wall.

Johnny shakes his head and pats Allen’s shoulder. “There were no signs of transformation. You were sleeping normally until the screaming started.”

Allen relaxes visibly. For a moment, he is allowed to collect himself—then Johnny moves. He rises on his knees and throws his arms around Allen, bringing him into a crushing hug. Allen’s hands react by twitching and shooting up. He seems lost, his eyes big and bright in the wrong way. Poor kid. He stays like that, like a rabbit in water, for few seconds before the edges around him soften. His hands fall back to his sides, and he adjusts his head on Johnny’s shoulder, melting against him. It’s easy to notice small things that weren’t visible a moment ago. Like how wet and rag-like Allen’s hair is, or how his lips quiver on his static face. More than relieved, he looks like he really needs something like this—someone to hold him in the middle of the dark night. Johnny doesn’t care about the state of his hair. He just ruffles it, whispering encouraging things into Allen’s ear.

How sweet.

On the edge of his seat, Lavi listens and watches—listens and watches how Johnny is not afraid in the slightest. Not of Allen or how vulnerable he can be. Or how dangerous he could become.

Johnny is… a gift. He is a gift that Allen full-heartedly deserves. Someone has to care about him unconditionally.

Lavi can’t watch it.

With some luck, he is able to find Yuu from the shadows. He is standing at the back of the room, posture stiff like a tin soldier’s. He’s like one of the furniture, unmoving and spectating—and he has been like that for a while now. Lavi hasn’t seen him near Allen after the nightmare escalated.

Thank God Johnny is here. Without him, Allen would be surrounded by useless traitors.

Sharp ache signals that Lavi should stop messing with his fingers. He could try being helpful. Make tea or something. The cottage lacks a functioning kitchen so he has to go outside to revive their campfire, and that’s just perfect. Because he really doesn’t want to listen what happens inside.

Setting up a pot and some water, which he gets from nearby stream, Lavi sits beside a small flame he has managed to lit. He watches it struggle and grow bigger until it’s just the right size. Good. Now he can focus on calming down.

“Wanna talk about your dream?”

Unfortunately, Lavi is curious by the nature—or by the occupation, whatever has morphed him more. The window is too close to the campfire, and he manages to peek through it into the darkness inhabiting the cottage. He should only be able to see the light of the candles, but they work against him and illuminate Allen’s white silhouette.

“It wasn’t that bad in the beginning... only got worse halfway.”

It’s ridiculous. Why does that kid have to stand out from everything? If Lavi didn’t know better, he would swear that someone was playing tricks on his mind. Allen just happens to sit _exactly_ in the middle of the room, in the few rays of moonlight that manage to sneak inside. A boy with white skin, white hair, and white clothes _just happens to sit in the pure white moonlight, against the total darkness!_ He shines like one of the candles, and it’s… it’s infuriating! This ridiculous view is straight from a book, written by some hopeless romantic with fascination for nature and untameable. Lavi has read thousands of books like that, laugh at them, and now the embarrassing cliché is played at him.

“It sounded painful. You were screaming and fighting. Was it the Noah?”

But Lavi knows better. He tears his eye away from the shining diamond that is Allen. Because Allen is far from it.

“Kinda.”

To an outsider, Allen looks perfect and unbreakable. He is charismatic and never gives up. He can fight monsters that vaporize a man in less than a second, and he has cheated death more than once. And he is selfless—so selfless it’s almost an illness.

“You are strong, Allen. The Fourteenth can only win in your dreams.”

But Allen is far from unbreakable. That can be seen on the occasions when he cracks. Like on the nights he has these nightmares. Sometimes he just lies there, holding his tears and shaking like a leaf. Sometimes he thrashes and screams, just like today. And sometimes… sometimes he becomes someone else.

Lavi has seen Allen’s Noah transformation only once. It scares the shit out of him.

He is an apprentice Bookman, a recorder. He was one of the first to learn about Allen’s connection to the Fourteenth—and one of the last to ask how Allen was actually doing. He only asked after witnessing one of his transformations, which happened about three weeks ago.

“I hope so. I’m not giving him a change to come back.”

In this mess, there’s one thing that gives Lavi hope—Allen himself has chosen to fight. And maybe… just maybe he can overcome that thing inside him. Before he burns out, like those candles eventually will.

“By the way, you were speaking in your sleep.”

“I was? What did I say?”

“Something about _‘Mana.’_ ”

“Oh.”

Ouch, ouch, ouch. Straight to the heart.

Lavi listens as few more words are exchanged, but soon the cottage’s door is opened. Allen hops out, shuddering from the exposure to the chilly night, but he adapts quickly. He starts marching towards the woods, his form strange and out-of-place; his steps are silent and soft, as if he was floating instead of touching the ground. He lacks shoes and proper clothing, and there’s something empty about him. “I’m going for a walk,” he states as his light disappears behind the trees.

Well, so much for that tea. Lavi keeps staring at the spot where Allen slipped from his vision and starts counting in his head.

_One, two, three, four… Any second now._

Right up to the mark, Yuu steps out. He spares no glance to his surroundings and rushes after Allen, wearing nothing but his nightwear and boots.

Like a shadow to the light.

Lavi hums knowingly and shifts his gaze to the tea water. It’s ready. Might as well drink it himself, letting it cool down would be a waste. He fills two cups and sips his carefully, trying not to burn his mouth. Who knows, maybe this will help him catch a wink.

He returns to the cottage and hands the other cup to Johnny who looks like he could use one. Neither of them is in the mood for a talk, so Lavi decides to try his luck with sleeping. He curls into his own pile of blankets where Allen’s sudden episode chased him off; the spot is messed up and not very comfortable, but at least it’s warm—just like the tea caressing the bottom of his stomach. He closes his eye and buries himself under the blankets, relaxing and letting the liquid do its trick. He can feel the sleep coming down, and he embraces it. Maybe the rest of the night won’t be that wild.

After a while, Lavi comes around—but it’s not right. He is surrounded by darkness and thick, black water. He can see shapes of people crying and moving towards him, whispering demands and accusations.

Here again.

On his hand, Lavi has a dagger. It’s dry with ink-black blood, from the murders of the previous nights.

Lavi sighs. He spins the dagger in his hand and dashes forward, striking down the figures coming into his way. Looks like he’ll be playing the good apprentice for the rest of the night.

 

\----

 

The damp earth sunk like sponge, speckled with footprint craters. The heavy grass bent and stayed down under the pressure of the violent steps. A cold breeze clashed against the warm skin, biting and licking, before getting devoured by the intruder’s lips. It burnt. Scratching against its captor’s tender windpipe, the breeze got stuck into their lungs where it continued spinning like a sharp-legged spider. That uncomfortable, stinging feeling felt surprisingly good. Allen let it cleanse him inside out.

He needed to feel something—anything but the constriction in his chest.

Getting out had been necessary. Allen knew the way he had left would make the others worry, but after a nightmare like that, he didn’t want to start recapping his life story. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault, and Allen felt bad for causing him distress. Johnny had just tried to help. Allen appreciated it more than he could ever show, but it was just…

It was Mana. Thinking about him was just too painful.

Allen’s steps slowed gradually before stopping entirely. He allowed his posture to slump as the cold and the emotions caught up with him. He had never really talked about Mana that much. Even during his time at the Order, he had avoided mentioning his foster father as much as possible. Komui and Lenalee knew the full story behind his curse mark; Cross, Levellier, Bookman, and Lavi knew a little more. And Howard Link—to him, Allen had actually opened up.

Even if his memories of Mana didn’t hurt as much as they had used to, he was still reluctant to share them. The relationship between Mana and the Fourteenth also complicated the subject.

He didn’t want people to feel sorry for a broken kid who had been unlucky. He didn’t want them thinking that Mana’s betrayal hurt as much as it did. He didn’t want them thinking that he had been just a pawn or a sacrifice, a temporary substitute for Mana’s real family. For Nea, his brother.

Of course it hurt! More than when his eye had been pierced, or when his Innocence had been destroyed! It was a betrayal of his whole existence.

But he had decided not to give up.

Fluid had started to pool out of his nose; he inhaled it back and pursed his lips. His hand traced the pentagram on his forehead before levelling with his face, clenching into a determined fist. He had made a promise.

_“I love you, Allen.”_

Even if Mana hadn’t _really_ loved him as him, Allen had still cared. Nothing could ever take away his love and inspiration; it was what had made him the person he was today. Mana had told him to keep going. Even if those words had been originally Nea’s, and Mana had simply repeated them, Allen had chosen to follow them himself. He wanted to stay as Allen Walker—he wanted to exist.

 _Exist and keep going forward._ He had sworn that on the day Nea had taken over his body, when he had been trapped to that wheat field of memories and told that he was going to disappear.

That day Allen Walker had decided that he was going to fight.

His reminiscing was interrupted by the rustling of the nearby bushes. Without thinking, he made a 180 degree turn and tensed his body, expecting something or someone to attack him. A familiar snarl entered his ears, but instead of activating his Innocence, Allen slapped a hand on his face. “I don’t need a babysitter,” he complained when Kanda emerged from the leaves, looking like a forest elf with a bad day, hair decorated with Mother Nature’s gifts.

“Shut up, Beansprout! If you get lost, we’ll have to spend the whole night looking for your stupid ass.”

Allen felt his eyes rolling back into his head. “God help me.” He had finished moping and didn’t fancy an argument with this idiot, but he also didn’t want to return to the cottage just yet. The thought of Johnny’s apologetic—and Lavi’s knowing—gaze knocked the back of his skull like a debt collector. The night sky was clear with perfectly showing stars, and despite the evil wind, it wasn’t as cold as before. The forest felt calming and peaceful, tempting Allen away from the awkwardness that was waiting at the cottage.

He resumed his walk, knowing that the shark would follow. This wasn’t the first time Kanda had invaded his personal time, and Allen didn’t bother shooing him away; persuading a pheasant to become his meal would have been easier. Without exchanging a word, the two of them skipped over the grass and the roots, searching for a more foot-friendly path.

They stopped when they discovered a clearing that looked like it only existed during a night. It bloomed with frilly flowers pointing towards the flawless view of the glimmering sky. A milky-white rock formation lied at the centre invitingly, and Allen decided it was a perfect thing to end the trip with. Careful not to damage the thick flowerbed, he climbed on the largest of the rocks before sitting down, Kanda joining him soon afterwards. Closing his eyes, Allen focused on the soothing hymn provided by his surroundings, both ethereal and familiar at the same time.

Cicadas were singing in the nearby trees, rustling of the leaves as their background music. Wind brought in faraway guests, giving the song a livelier, layered sound; it was neither too loud nor too quiet. Whatever sound crawled out of Kanda’s nose was funny and characteristic, and Allen’s lips bounced up. Sitting here, surrounded by these small things and a friend by his side, he felt safe. It was nothing like the empty space in his dream. Allen wanted to forget that dream for good—but there was something he needed to be absolutely sure first.

“The Fourteenth really wasn’t surfacing today?”

Out of all people, Kanda wouldn’t try hiding the truth. He would just give Allen one of his soul-piercing stares and say either yes or no—which was exactly what he did. Half of Allen’s weight disappeared into the thin air along with that one little word.

He should apologize to Johnny when they got back.

“Wish those nightmares would stop,” Allen complained when an owl’s shadow painted them black for a couple of seconds. He was sick of waking everyone up.

“They never will,” came Kanda’s blunt reply. The rock they had chosen wasn’t big, and Allen could feel the warmth radiating from his body, even if his words hadn’t been what he might have wanted to hear. But when was the truth ever? He just wished Kanda wasn’t right; there was simply too much baggage for them to bear during the day. They needed to unload somehow, and it was either them or their subconscious that took care of the job.

Allen SUCKED at talking about himself. It was easier to let things brew inside his head’s kettle and wait for them to evaporate. However, he had started accepting that the lid could be lifted sometimes. Kanda and he could be like oil and water, but some things were easier to reveal to someone who didn’t try burying you into blankets.

“Sometimes I’m in weird places,” Allen started tentatively. “They are filled with ruins and dead landscapes, and people in them say disturbing things.” It was surprisingly easy, and after a few sentences, Allen decided to go for it and get to the point. “Today I was trapped in never-ending mist...” That’s all it took to open the floodgates. Allen continued his story, spilling out bits and pieces of his nightmare. He left out the parts concerning Mana and the things the Earl had said, but he could already feel the chains around him loosening. It was great! Kanda didn’t try interrupting him, and Allen spoke and spoke until his legs started to go numb. He realized he had been rambling like an old man, and even if Kanda could pass for a sculpture, he didn’t want to risk reaching the limit of his patience. It was time to close the topic.

“I’m sure your nightmares are way worse than—” Allen’s jaw froze in the middle of the slip. He wanted to take his words back and smash his teeth against the rock. He couldn’t say something like that to _Kanda!_ It was hard to imagine a past as unfair and cruel as his, and while Allen wouldn’t have minded sharing some of that burden, he couldn’t just ask Kanda to spill it out as if they were the best of friends!

To his relief, Kanda just shrugged and didn’t look bothered. “They are bad,” he said without moving his eyes from the flower field below them, “and you already know what happens in them.”

Phew.

Allen now noticed that Kanda had a flower in his fingers. It was similar to the ones blooming around them, and he must have found it or picked it up before climbing. Like all the others, it was pure white and had a trumpet like shape. Pretty. Allen asked what species it was, but Kanda didn’t know—he only knew it wasn’t a lotus. Kanda fiddled with it for a while before his face suddenly softened. That small pouch hanging from his neck bounced when he grasped it with his free hand, looking like he was remembering something happy.

A sympathetic smile spread over Allen’s face. He put a hand on Kanda’s leg and patted it gently. “If you like it, we can take it with us and show it to Lavi. He might be able to tell what it is.” Kanda let go of the pouch and frowned; it was his “I’m thinking” frown, slightly different than his other personalized frowns. He took one more look at the flower before shaking his head.

“No need. I’m not a flower person.” Kanda shifted his position. Allen thought he was going to fling the flower back to the field, but his eyes snapped on him and swept over him couple of times. Without a further notice, he stuck the flower into Allen’s hair. “It suits you better,” he said and returned his gaze forward, not bothering to take in Allen’s reaction. The... the nerve of him!

Allen crossed his arms and turned his head away, fuming from whatever it was that got to him about Kanda’s action. He wanted to be angry, but he had difficulties finding a plausible reason.

Allen soon forgot his problem. The stars above them had started blinking, and just like the flower in his hair, there was something noteworthy about them tonight. He trailed the invisible lines in-between them, finding Orion. The constellation looked like it had difficulties staying still, as if it was preparing to jump down from the green sky. Its stars radiated like a collection of tiny emeralds, and it was a playground to the fireflies dancing around the clearing, rising up like small spirits. Taken aback by the sight, Allen leaned backwards and allowed himself to drift away, to somewhere where worries didn’t exist.

He was pulled out of his magical world when Kanda flinched beside him. For some reason, he had straightened his posture and was staring into the opposite direction, breathing at a pause. Allen peered past him in concern, trying to see what had caught his interest. There was no way anyone had managed to follow them here, was there?

Minute after minute passed. Allen’s eye and arm remained unchanging, and he couldn’t sense anything on the other side of the clearing. Even Kanda hadn’t reached out for his sword. When nothing happened, Allen shifted closer and sneaked his chin over Kanda’s shoulder, trying to follow the direction of his eyes. Still nothing. _Must have been an animal._ Allen allowed himself to relax. He slumped against Kanda’s back, and his head lolled to the side. He let out a deep, relieved breath—not realizing that he was directing it right into Kanda’s neck.

Kanda jumped. His hair flew up, and he let out a neigh so atypical it made Allen flinch in turn. He turned around and shoved Allen away as if their contact had burnt, but the action caused him to shift backwards as well—and fall off the rock. A thud echoed in the air, followed by a series of curses. Allen batted his surprised eyes and peeked over the cliff, finding his friend’s legs sticking up from the flowerbed.

Kanda’s face was turning into a flaming tomato. “Stupid, STUPID, Beansprout! What the hell are you doing?!” he screamed, trying to find all of his limbs and get out of the flower sea. He was dreading to explode any minute now, but as much as Allen tried, he couldn’t look at him with a straight face. Rolling there, covered in mud and grass, Yuu Kanda was a total mess. His black top had flown up and gotten stuck into his armpits, revealing his navel and a small flower stuck in there. His prized hair, decorated with pedals and sticks, was splattered all over the place, looking like it had gotten caught in a typhoon. And his grey pants... they were patterned with wet mud, looking like they had been in a different kind of accident.

“Ka-kanda…” Allen stuttered, trying to hold back a budding laugher. He stood up so that he could get down but happened to glance at the Kanda’s side of the rock. That was when he lost it. Air escaped through his teeth like a fart, and he fell back down, clenching his stomach as if he was suffering from a cramp. He cackled and howled, and no matter how Kanda’s expression promised a murder, he just couldn’t stop. Despite his shaking, he picked up an item and swung it back and forth like pendulum. His crescent eyes grinned.

“You forgot your shoe.”

The birds escaped their nests as Kanda’s roar shook the clearing. Barely able to move, Allen threw the boot at him and slid off the cliff, landing perfectly on its other side. He was so dead. “Last one back at the cottage is a rotten egg!” he shouted and took off, laughing like a hyena when Kanda dashed after him. He was radiating a homicidal aura that would have made even the Earl wet himself.

“Get back here, Beansprout!”

Curses and threats were shot from behind, but they only made Allen sprint faster. He had tried to avoid messing with Kanda tonight, but with a stunt like that, the idiot was almost pegging for it. He couldn’t pass up a chance to embarrass him and ruff his feathers—the prize of it was just way too entertaining.

“You little asshole, stop when I’m telling you!”

 _There he goes again._ Allen was well aware that he wouldn’t be getting out of this without few scratches, but he wasn’t too bothered. Seeing that stoic, grumpy face swelling from emotions was priceless. It made Allen feel... how exactly?

Was pressing Kanda’s buttons just plain amusing? Or was it his arrogance and indifference that rubbed him the wrong way? The exact reason was surprisingly difficult to pinpoint. Allen thought about it, but he still couldn’t come up with anything that felt right.

“BEANSPROUT!”

Allen’s deliberation came to a halt when he spotted their cottage behind a large tree. A grin slipped into his face, and he slowed down, turning around to face Kanda with hands on his hips. Their race was over, and he was prepared to face his punishment. The black monster wasn’t far behind, and Kanda reached him in a matter of seconds. He was out of breath—not from the running but from the yelling—and his fists trembled in front of him as he stomped towards Allen like a living thunder cloud. Before the brawl could start, Allen opened his mouth.

“Looks like the victory is mine, slowpoke.”

Losing his cool, Kanda grabbed Allen’s shoulders and shook him like a humanized sack. “This is not the time for your stupid games!” he shouted, growing more and more frustrated by Allen’s continuous chuckling and wiggling of eyebrows. Allen was _this_ close to getting a fist into his face, but Kanda removed his hands, burying his own head into them instead. He looked like he was experiencing a mental breakdown and just wanted to quit everything.

“Look,” Kanda growled, pointing past Allen straight to the cottage only twenty meters from their spot. “You moron kept running the wrong way! That isn’t _our_ cottage!”

Allen’s cocky smile faded away. He turned around and the studied the building, eyes as wide as a bug’s.

No. Fucking. Way.

Kanda was right—the building in front of them really wasn’t their cottage. It was bigger and in better condition. An actual house! It looked inhabited, and there were a road and a field behind it, connecting it to the civilization. A farm; the difference between it and their remote cottage was like day and night.

Allen felt like the biggest idiot to ever walk the Earth. Behind him Kanda was kicking a tree and digging his nails into the back of his neck. “Great. Now we’ll have to find a way back without getting even more lost.” He snatched Allen’s hand and started dragging him towards the direction they had come from. Allen let him, but something about the house caught his interest.

“Wait!” At first it had looked like any ordinary farmhouse, but certain details stuck out like red paint on white canvas. The yard was clean and well-cared, but some wooden logs had been scattered around the entrance. A dog house was located under the small window, but no dog could be seen anywhere near it. But the most alarming thing was the main door—it was slightly open. “Doesn’t that feel a little odd?”

Kanda took a quick peek in the house’s direction. “Country bumpkins leave their doors unlocked,” he stated, tugging at Allen’s hand demandingly. He had had enough of this adventure, and Allen knew that an argument with him wasn’t the greatest idea, especially after that dumb race. Still, he couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut. He shook off Kanda’s hand and started jogging towards the house.

“I’m going to check it out, just in case!”

He slowed down when he arrived to the yard, observing his surroundings. The bowl by the doghouse was filled with fresh food, confirming the animal’s existence. Allen had to be extra careful now; he was just making sure the residents were alright. He didn’t want to cause ruckus, but a dog wouldn’t be able to tell him from an intruder. He squinted his eyes and peered through the window. Even if his night vision was better than an ordinary person’s, the inside of the house remained pitch-black; he could barely make out the lines of a table and chairs. There was no light at the back of the room, and if it wasn’t for the faint smell of smoke indicating that something had been burned, Allen would have turned back. He didn’t know the local customs, and it was entirely possible that the door had been left open on purpose. If he went inside and the inhabitants were just having a normal night, he could end up scaring them—and getting shot if they were aggressive and prepared for unwanted visitors.

Unfortunately, he had to enter the house if he wanted to be absolutely sure. He took careful steps towards the door, hoping he wouldn’t make unnecessary sounds and end up as dog food. The absurdity of the situation started to sink in.

Here he was, sneaking into someone’s house like a common thief. Just because he had gotten into his head that someone there might need his help. His reasoning was farfetched at best, and he should have just let Kanda take him back to their cottage. _What the hell, Allen Walker?_

It had been too long since he had been around people. Too long since he had had time to stop to help someone. It had been all about him and his friends for the past months, and he was probably starting to lose it. Helping people had been his... thing. He was addicted to it.

He also didn’t want to return to their cottage.

When Allen had managed to inch to the door, he tested its handle with extreme care. It was firm and working. He drew breath before pushing it slightly more open, and a creak, loud and horrible, screeched through the night. He froze into his spot. Heart threatening to climb up his throat, he strained his ears and listened. The inhabitants didn’t make a sound; it was just as quiet as before. Relieved beyond all sense, Allen’s confidence grew. He stood up and opened the door wide.

But before he could step in, the wind made a round through the house. It brought back a familiar, pungent reek that that made Allen’s skin crawl.

 

\----

 

He brings down the dagger for 94th time. Another gulping body falls before him, spilling its ink over his surroundings. Black, black, more black. He doesn’t bother cleaning the drops landing to his cheeks; there’s no point if he is going to get dirtied over and over again.

Lavi is standing on a mountain formed from corpses. It’s grotesque mass of ink, limbs, and faces. He can count the many Lenalees, Yuus, Dougs, and Bookmans who have been pierced by his weapon. There’s an occasional Komui, Krory, Miranda, and Chaoji in the mix—even some Johnnys have joined the collection.

Lavi hears a noise from below and lowers his chin. There is something white shining in the mass, creeping towards him. An Allen. A muffled sound escapes his lips.

In these dreams, Allens are the rarest. That’s bizarrely merciful since Lavi hates having to kill anything related to him.

Watching as he the boy climbs the disgusting mountain, Lavi wonders why he is here again. Unlike some other dreams, he can always separate this one from the reality. After all, it’s based on another nightmare.

A crunch breaks out from below. Lavi blinks his eye in surprise and—against his better judgement—lets himself to have a look. He wishes he hadn’t. Below him, right under his left heel, is what is left of Lenalee’s face. Lavi doesn’t dare to remove his shoe—this is one those images he would hate to memorize.

Lavi’s photographic memory is an excellent for someone in his line of work. Not so much for getting over unpleasant things.

He feels a yank on his other leg, and there’s a hand grabbing his ankle now. It’s rude and aggressive, and Lavi wants to kick it away—but in order to do that, he would have to lift his shoe and expose Lena’s mutilated head. He really doesn’t want to do that. Lavi tightens his hold on the dagger and prepares to cut off the offending fingers. But, of course, it can’t be that easy. Another yank demands his attention, and the Allen who has been climbing the hill lifts himself to his level. It has now come to a point where Lavi can no longer avoid unpleasant options. He lets out a tired huff.

Only his mind would be cruel enough to make him choose; he can either stomp on Lena’s remains, or cut down the Allen who’s trying to rip him to pieces.

Lavi tests his footing. Unfortunately, he has already seen so many gruesome sides of Lena that one more shouldn’t be a big deal. She’s a strong girl, and that’s how he wants to remember her. But then their first encounter pops into his head, and he hesitates. It’s been long—so long since he last saw anything but these broken imitations of her. She shouldn’t affect him like that, shouldn’t be that special. But...

_She was almost lost too._

Despite Lavi’s extraordinary memory, he finds it hard to image a happy, strong Lenalee. He can only see bandages, and broken masts, and stigmata.

No. He cannot remove his foot. Not today, maybe never. That, unfortunately, means that his only opinion is to kill the Allen in front of him.

That Allen is already reaching for Lavi’s throat. Its hands look so small compared to Lavi’s own, covered by those soft gloves Allen loves wearing. Lavi has to hit him to the head if he wants it to be over as soon as possible. He has to mar that white hair with his own hands. He cannot go for his heart—that’s something he has no right to.

But against all odds, Lavi starts laughing. The dagger slips from his fingers, and he lets himself to be pushed off the flesh hill, to be torn apart and drowned into the depths below.

As if he could kill him again.

A choice never existed. Even in his dreams, Lavi has never been able to cut off Allen after that one time in Road’s dimension. He must pick the third, unnecessarily painful option.

These are the memories he can handle the best, Lavi reassures himself as Allen’s hands push him into the black water, stabbing him with his own, abandoned dagger.

“Lavi, you are having a nightmare.”

Ah... So Johnny has noticed.

Perhaps... perhaps he doesn’t have to see this to the end.

“You should wake up.”

Lavi feels how his real body is being shaken, and Allen’s attacks start to lose their effect. He starts to feel the texture of his pillow, the wrinkles in his blankets, the warm hands trying to help him. The illusion of being attacked disappears, and Lavi’s consciousness returns to the small cottage in the middle of nowhere.

Johnny is waiting, sitting beside him with a tired smile. Lavi stares at him for a few seconds before he needs to cough. His bone-white fingers let go of the clutched blankets, and he sits up, rubbing his strained eye. “Thank you,” he says with a dry voice, honestly relieved to see a real, living person.

Johnny glees like a sunflower, only lacking the colourful pedals. He picks up a mug and helps it into Lavi’s hands. Tea. “I made more when I noticed you were having a rough time,” he says and adjusts those ridiculous eyeglasses that have trouble fitting on his face. They are crooked and unaligned, having somehow survived a trip on the floor.

Lavi thanks him and devours the drink as fast as possible. It helps the warmth to return to his insides, and his brains start functioning again, revived from their half-dead state. Johnny is still looking at him through those thick glasses, and that big, wax-like smile hasn’t melted in the slightest. He looks kind and safe like a teddy bear, and Lavi realizes that he is trying to sooth him, just he soothed Allen earlier. The hairs at the back of his neck start stinging.

He isn’t used to being treated like this, being woken up so gently—a kick to the head would have been more familiar.

Lavi’s inner hedgehog thrusts up its spines. “How did you figure out?” he asks, barely able to keep the sourness from his voice. He knows this is not how he is supposed to act, but something gets the better of him. He is itching to slide away from the situation, into the darkness at the back of the room.

Johnny lifts his hand in order to pat Lavi’s back, but withdraws it in the last moment. Instead he moves it behind his head and laughs, probably thinking it would make the situation less awkward. “Well... you kept tossing and turning in your sleep. It didn’t look like a... pleasant kind of dream. If you know what I mean.”

Lavi’s cheeks flare up, and his face is barely saved by the bad lightning. His nails have crawled back into the blankets, but he forces his fingers to relax. It’s okay. No harm done. He does what he knows best and plasters on a cheerful smile of his own.

 “Thank you for your concern!” he chirps, closing his eye and tilting his head. “It was, indeed, a crappy dream, and I’m happy it’s finally over. I’m fine now, so you can go back to what you were doing before I disrupted you.” This should be enough to convince Johnny—but the scientist is looking at him like a bird flown into a window.

_C’moon. Get up. Return to that window, please._

But Johnny sighs. He drops his hands to the floor, and his shoulders bend down like an old coat hanger. “Oh, Lavi. Sometimes you are even worse than Allen,” he says quietly. He licks his lips and puffs his cheeks, looking much older when the shadows fill the pits on his face. Lavi can almost smell an old man’s smell through the Science Division’s perma-stench, and he knows the nagging is coming. Fuck, he can hear it even before it starts. “What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to deal with these things alone. I’m not only here to support Allen and Kanda but you as well.”

Lavi fights the urge to grit his teeth. Oh, c’moon! He is absolutely not going to be comforted by this man! Because yes, Johnny Gill is a great support! A great person and a great friend! But Johnny Gill is way too sweet, and way too friendly, and way too comfortable to be around. He is great for someone like Allen—for someone who believes in those things. But for someone like Lavi...

Light can be shined into a mirror, and it will get repelled. But unless there is already some light behind that mirror, not a single ray can reach its darkest spot.

“I know,” Lavi lies through his teeth. Johnny cannot help him.

If the atmosphere was awkward before, it’s clearly uncomfortable now. Johnny is still reluctant to leave Lavi be, but Lavi refuses to open up. It leaves Johnny less and less options, and Lavi hopes he won’t try hugging or touching him like he does with Allen when there are no right words. There was a time when he reacted to physical contact differently, but that is in the past. His and Allen’s preferences have switched.

After a period that feels like an eternity, Johnny finally gives up. He rises and walks to the window, inspecting the smudgy panels as dirty as his eyeglasses. “I’m not going to force you to speak up,” he says, trying to keep his voice neutral, but the disappointment shines through like a bad singer in a band. “Just... just try to remember that everyone needs help sometimes.”

Yes, yes.

Lavi grants him another beaming expression, believing that this is the end of their conversation. He thinks about curling into a ball and spending the rest of the night buried into himself, counting the squares in his blankets; it’s calming and more productive than this. But to his frustration, Johnny opens his mouth again.

“Do you remember when Arystar was infected by Komuvitan D?”

Lavi’s eye cracks open. The question catches him off guard.

“It happened after Lulubell’s attack, before we had moved into new headquarters. Almost everyone was turned into zombies, and it got so big it could hardly be passed off as another Komlin incident...”

Lavi blinks once, twice. Of course he remembers that disaster. What he doesn’t understand is why Johnny is referring to it now. If he is trying to make some kind of statement, Lavi sure as hell doesn’t see the connection. He considers just letting the topic die, but Johnny has already turned around and caught his eye into his. He is expecting an answer.

Lavi quickly settles his tangled tongue and puts together something. “Oh, yeah! It was crazy. Not getting chased by rabid people every day.” Or getting turned into a kid.

It had been a pain. Wearing Gramps’ old-man clothing had sucked, and been teased by a taller Allen had sucked even more. At least he and Yuu had been so damn cute that he had managed to steal few luscious hugs from the women… which had actually been great. Compared to running for his life, at least. Even if there had been nothing funny about it at time, that so called “Destruction of the Black Order” had been relatively harmless compared to the typical shit they had to go through. Meowing Lena had been cute, but hearing the same sound from Gramps’ lips… just nope. As if the bunny ears hadn’t been enough. “Allen’s long hair was pretty nice,” Lavi says aloud, digging through his memory. Johnny laughs at him.

“You remember something like that? I was too scared to pay attention to anything except making that vaccine and getting out alive.” Johnny scratches his head. It’s like a bird nest, and somewhere in the forest an owl hoots in agreement. “Yet… we all still ended up as zombies,” Johnny then says, hesitation evident in his voice.

Lavi hears him settle his elbows on something hard, probably the window mill. The dust cloud he has been eyeing disappears as his light source gets blocked, and his eye starts homing in on where Johnny is. He finds a man void of all colours, baggy clothes looking like curtains when the light moves in them. The straining shadows have been burnt away. Lavi gets the silence he has been begging, but it’s not a genuine one. The air is filled with unsaid words, this time not his.

“That was our first mission together, just the four of us,” Johnny eventually says. It makes Lavi do a double take. He opens his mouth in order to argue back, but his mind hits the brakes.

It... hadn’t exactly been a mission. More like a disaster. But he cannot deny that it had been the first time he, Johnny, Kanda, and Allen had teamed up. Whether that had worked out was another story.

Suddenly Johnny turns around. Lavi can’t see his eyes because his lenses have been painted white, but his hand twists into a fist. It crashes against the window mill so hard that Lavi leans backwards, muscles frozen like a snail’s shell. It takes him a moment to realize that Johnny has been continuing his speech. “We were supposed to fix everything. Find the source of the infection, create the antidote, save everyone. But we couldn’t even save ourselves. _I_ couldn’t even save one of you.”

Lavi draws a silent breath. His memory is hazy from those parts. He remembers getting bitten, not much after that. He doesn’t remember what happened to Johnny, Allen, or Yuu. But Johnny remembers, and he tells him. Tells him how he watched them getting dragged from him, one by one. How he held Allen in his lap to the very last moment, and how useless he felt. How he won’t let it happen again.

“When the Order declared him as a traitor, I knew I had to change.”

Johnny calms down. He shifts his position, leaning on the window mill with his other arm. His fist is dark, probably red, and he stretches the wrist connected to it. The mad light has disappeared from his eyes, and those small buttons behind his glasses look much softer than a moment ago. He examines Lavi, looking a little apologetic, and Lavi realizes that he must have lost his composure, his mask. Lavi must be looking like stranger, and he hopes the image is funny enough to hide the fear he isn’t sure is still locked up. Luckily, Johnny has decided not to pester him anymore. He changes the subject into something they can both relate to.

“Allen is an important friend,” he states as if he could see right through Lavi. “I think I understand why it’s so easy to get fixated on him. He is both kind and strong.” He turns back into the window and starts drawing on its dusty panels. First it looks like he is trying to make something coherent, but the lines soon turn into random shapes and patterns. He ends up erasing them. “But sometimes that strength becomes a burden. Allen is so eager to put others before himself that he tends to fade out into the background. I don’t want to leave him there.”

The glasses have been slipping lower and lower on his nose. They almost drop before Johnny catches them and shoves them back into his face. He squints and stares outside for a moment, as if something had changed there. He then shakes his head and removes himself from the dark window, focusing on the only other person in the room. “Sorry. Thought I saw smoke. But I wanted to tell you that while I may be just another scientist of the Order, you are more than mere Exorcists to me.”

He means what he says. The spark behind his lenses is sincere, and his words come straight from the heart. Lavi can tell because it’s the exact replica of his own feeling—the feeling he cannot voice. Thinking about it is already wrong and too much of a betrayal, but he still recognizes it. His heart beats faster and faster, and the cottage around them disappears. Now it’s just him and this man—and that feeling.

Johnny’s words are reaching something in him. Lavi knows he should stop it, fight it. It’s not right, and he still cannot accept it—or Johnny. But Johnny is not afraid.

He is here for them. For Allen. A friend that Allen needs; that’s something Lavi can get behind.

Slowly but surely, a true smile creeps on his face. “Yes,” he whispers, not sure what he is even answering to. But no matter what slithers out of his treacherous mouth, Lavi has accepted what Johnny is trying to accomplish. Not everything about him, of course, but he doesn’t have to fear him, or his light. It might not be able to reach him the way it reaches Allen—or how Allen’s reaches him—but he is not afraid of being caught like before.

He understands Johnny’s feelings. That’s enough.

“To be honest, I have no idea what to do with you,” Johnny suddenly confesses. His wall is down, and so are his smiles. He is just a tired man like he is supposed to be, not pretending to be anything else. Not a cool big brother, a friend, or a confidant. And Lavi—Lavi responds by laughing whole-heartedly.

Seriously.

“Nice lie, you sly little man,” he chuckles. Johnny tilts his head and almost drops his eyeglasses again, looking at him in utter confusion. Lavi clicks his tongue and points at him with a finger gun gesture. His voice is deeper and smoother compared to how he normally speaks, and he doesn’t try toning down his words. Johnny Gill is good at what he is doing—really good. He may not realize it himself, but it’s there, shining bright. Lavi continues giving him smart looks, humoured how lost Johnny seems with this sudden change in him.

It would be interesting to see how well he could handle his true self.

Johnny recovers, evenly confused and excited about the chance Lavi has given him. He is about to start another conversation, but a powerful knock on the door steals his attention. It’s loud and rushed, and soon followed by other similar knocks and yanking of the handle. The old, rusty lock protests, and the hinges rattle like tin cans.

“Is that Kanda?” Johnny asks and tries peering out of the window. “About time they arrived,” he adds and jogs towards the door, rushing to save it before it gets knocked down.

Lavi’s eye follows his movements. An old habit starts guiding his hand towards their backpacks.

 

\----

 

The sight before him carved at his chest and stomach.

The inside of the house was in chaos. The dog he had feared so much... he had found it.

The animal’s body was larger than he had thought, covered in black fur inseparable from the darkness of the night. He didn’t know much about dogs so he couldn’t tell what breed it might have been, but that didn’t matter. He had almost stepped on it because it was lying at the entrance, limbs stiff and chest unmoving, its large ears splayed like a sleeping rabbit’s. A deep gush was drawn into its neck, explaining the reason it hadn’t come running.

With a heavy, nostalgic feeling, Allen entered the house. He proceeded with small steps, letting the light from the door illuminate a path for him. He went around the dining table to where the metallic stench was the strongest, discovering the sad fate of the residents.

A man, well-built and tanned. Large arms covered with scratches and scars. His face couldn’t be seen because it was hugging the floor, swimming in a puddle of sticky liquid. His plaided shirt was dark and crumbled, its surface dried as hard as a cracker’s. Several ripped, bloody spots decorated his back, spread across it like markers on a map. Allen’s eyes itched. He turned his head away, only to find a lifeless body of a woman sitting against the wall, hidden in-between the remains of the demolished furniture. Her unfocused eyes continued staring into nothing, like dirty mirrors, while her hands were trying to fill the empty hole in her chest.

Allen breathed through his mouth. He made his way towards the woman, pushing and grabbing the broken items and moving them aside. His hand reached for her face, brushing over the shell-like skin that was still slightly warm. He closed her eyelids. A photo of once happy family lied beside her, glass crushed into smithereens. It shone like a cracked jewel, similar to one that might have graced the ring on her left finger—only a pink impression remained.

Rushed steps entered the building, stomping over the main room before turning as silent as Allen’s. They closed in on him until settling by his side. Allen didn’t have to move to know that it was Kanda. He could feel the tension through both of their clothes and the small space between them. “Shit...” They didn’t talk nor exchange looks. There was no need.

“Kanda...” Allen uttered, lips both dry and wet. “They have a daughter.”

Kanda’s gaze locked on him before bouncing through the room. It landed on the photo on the floor, and he cursed under his breath. His presence left Allen’s side, and Allen heard him move past the husband’s corpse towards the smaller door at the back. He opened it and left him alone in the dead silence. Only a clock ticked somewhere in the room.

Allen gnawed his lips. He closed his eyes and buried his face into his arm, waiting anxiously for Kanda’s return.

When Kanda finally stepped through that door again, he avoided Allen’s gaze. His eyes were narrowed, and his bottom lip looked like it had been pierced by a needle. It wasn’t difficult to understand what he had found.

“This should be easier by now,” Allen cursed aloud. They saw countless people lose their lives to the Akuma, both friends and strangers. In contrast to that, something like this should have been nothing.

“Akuma don’t leave mess behind. Only humans do.”

Kanda’s words were bitter, and Allen couldn’t argue back. The evidence laid right before his eyes, and it wasn’t like he lacked bad experiences either. “I want to bury them,” he said with a tired voice. A part of him couldn’t take this—it felt hollow. Kanda’s sharp eyes chastised him.

“We shouldn’t touch them.”

The corners of Allen’s mouth pushed themselves up. He knew—they shouldn’t disrupt the crime scene. Whatever had happened in this house was a matter between humans, and his responsibilities as an Exorcist laid within exorcising the akuma. _Bullshit._ He wanted to hit something and scream at someone! He hadn’t become an Exorcist so that he could ignore ordinary people’s agony—and it wasn’t like either Kanda or the Order could tell him what to do!

But… as much as he would have liked, was there anything he could do to this family anymore? They were already dead. Shouldn’t the locals be allowed to lay them to the rest? That, however, brought in another dreadful possibility; that someone would wish to bring them back, and the Millenium Earl would appear with his screwed offer. That would make it Allen’s problem, and he was slightly afraid of leaving these souls up for grabs. If no one found out their fates, they couldn’t be wished back…

A painful trust stabbed his chest. Kanda had elbowed him to the ribs, reminding that it wasn’t their business. Blinding, dark malice threatened to break through the glass in front of Allen’s eyes and burst out of his mouth. He was painfully reminded of their first mission together in Martel, the arguments they had had during it. The reason him and Kanda could never see eye to eye. But one look at Kanda’s still tense shoulders and that small pouch hanging from his neck brought in different memories—memories of the fights he had rightfully lost. Reluctantly, Allen swallowed the bitterness burning the top of his tongue. He couldn’t save everyone. He had to try to think about the people still alive, the friends and family who deserved to know what had happened.

With a half-sigh, half scream, Allen forced the aggressive energy out. His form slumped and his hair curtained over his face as he gave the residents one last look. “Could we at least report this to the authorities?” No one should have to find their remains in a condition worse than this.

The sound of ticking was starting to get irritating. Allen blinked grumpily and shifted his gaze around; he spotted its source quickly, in-between a dead fireplace and the photograph he preferred not to look at. A large cuckoo clock had been knocked off the wall. It was lying on the ground, walls apart and open like a badly-made box. While its mechanism was obviously working, each hit sounded louder and more broken than the previous one. A dying man’s cough. Irritating, histrionic, pleading.

Kanda said something, but Allen didn’t listen. He stared at the clock’s hands shaking back and forth, barely able to proceed. The ticking intensified, and for some reason Allen got the feeling that there was something more to it. As if the clock was purposefully irritating him and trying to get his attention. _Calling him._ His heart was resonating with its sounds, speeding up, repeating the hasty rhythm.

What was he missing?

The blood had started boiling in his ears. The clock’s larger hand climbed up, resisting the gravity’s attempts to keep it down. It bumped forward like a series of desperate waves, faster than minutes, slower than seconds. When it finally reached the large number twelve, the cuckoo, unable to hatch from its broken birdhouse, let out a dying moan. It echoed through the quiet building, sending shivers down to Allen’s spine.

He blinked. The air inside him was a little too hot and came out in a hiss. His heart was still beating in the rhythm of the now-ceased ticking, and he shook his head, trying to calm down. Why was he freaked out by some inanimate object? The smell of iron was still assaulting his nostrils. It must have been the situation—must have been the fate of the family that made him feel ill.

His gaze crawled back to the silent clock, brushing over it just in case. The larger hand was stuck at twelve while the smaller one was pointing at three. 3 a.m.

Three a’clock…

_Three a’clock, three a’clock, three a’clock..!_

“Kanda… when did we leave?”

He didn’t stay for an answer.

Like a machine, Allen spun around and sprung through the entrance, making the loose door cry in its hinges. His bare feet sunk into the grass and tore through it, not bothered by the red slashes the blades and rocks cut into him. His frantic eyes searched for the familiar path, every direction looking right and wrong at the same time. He didn’t get far before his shoulder was violently grabbed and pulled backwards. He felt himself tilting, and he would have hit the ground—and probably stayed there—hadn’t the strong arms grabbed him and chained him against their owner. “You need a leash,” Kanda snarled. “What was so fucking important that you had to bolt again?”

This time Allen didn’t try struggling free. Instead, he gave Kanda a pleading, panicked look. “We need to get back to the cottage,” he explained as calmly as he could. “The bodies were warm, and the clock! It was three! The perpetrators can still be around, and Lavi and Johnny are out there by themselves!”

Kanda didn’t remove his arms, but he didn’t knock Allen unconscious either. “Your first good idea today. But did you get a look at the time before running out? Great, because neither did I.” They hadn’t paid attention to that when they had left the cottage. “That,” he said, making a nod towards the eerie farmhouse, “could have happened anytime between one to five hours, I’m no coroner. But if some assholes were running around these woods, wouldn’t they have run into _us_ instead of our buddies in a rundown shack?”

It... made sense. Allen bit into his lip, and Kanda’s hold loosened around his shoulders. He knew he wasn’t going to run off anymore. “I don’t know… I have a bad feeling about this,” Allen said, unable to silence the alarm still ringing in his head.

“Then let’s get back, but without headless running.” Kanda let go of him. Instead of going for the forest, his head turned back to the farmhouse; he was eyeing the road beside it, which was wider than the paths they had used. “I think we could get back faster if we took that,” he said. Despite feeling like his clothes were stuffed with explosives, Allen didn’t see a reason to argue. Kanda’s instincts were more reliable than his, and if he was willing to try something new, he had to have a good hunch.

They moved to the road. It was made of sand and stones instead of stomped vegetation, and marks of vehicles could be seen trailing it. The fields surrounding them from one side spread far into the horizon, disappearing when forest terrain came back into the view. Kanda gave Allen space by moving in front of him, their roles now reversed. Allen let his eyes rest on his back, on the wrinkles and stains on his shirt; no matter how dirty it was, it still descended down his frame as smoothly as ever. Despite his feminine features, Kanda’s build radiated pure strength, and there was nothing more calming than walking in the shadow of that kind of person. Allen’s anxiety should have disappeared right there.

However, he found himself walking faster and faster, stiff, fisted hands swaying in the rhythm of his legs. His heartbeat was rising again, drumming against his chest and knocking on it. He hated this. His paranoia was crawling back, and he couldn’t help but worry. It was stupid and useless.

Their cottage. It was behind a safe distance. It was run-down and abandoned, and no one in their right mind should have any business with it. They had found it by accident, by straying off the road, and if someone else happened to stumble upon it this very night, that would be a fucking miracle.

_But they had stumbled upon it too…_

The people. The people who had assaulted the family had been humans. Humans shouldn’t have any reason to attack Lavi or Johnny since they didn’t look particularly rich or have fancy stuff with them. There was just no reason to harm them, even if they happened to be found.

_They might not need a reason…_

Urg! Even if someone were to attack Lavi or Johnny, it wasn’t as if they were helpless! Lavi was used to fighting, and Johnny wasn’t as clueless as he seemed! They could surely hold their ground against ordinary people.

_But Lavi didn’t have his Innocence anymore…_

Allen passed Kanda with tightened teeth. Why did he have to do this to himself? They would be there soon, and he would see that Lavi and Johnny were be just fine. He would feel like a fool when they gave him that look with smiling mouths and sad eyes, thinking he was even more broken than before. There was no sight of the people who had murdered the family, which meant Kanda must have been right about the timeframe.

“Beansprout...”

Allen stopped in his tracks. He was used to Kanda calling out his nickname whenever he was pissed or wanted to order him around, to complain about something he had or should have done. But the adamant, bossy tone was lacking, and Kanda sounded almost strange. Wrong. Like a hunter who had gone quiet after spotting a bear too close. The feeling that Allen had tried to keep in check spread deeper.

Kanda was crouching over something dark. At the first glance, it looked like a dead animal, only flat—more like a stain on the ground. Kanda slid his fingers over it and rubbed them together, face tightening. He watched Allen dead in the eye before lifting his hand into the moonlight, revealing the smudge’s unmistakable red colour. “It’s still wet,” he whispered, alarming every cell in Allen’s body.

Red, red masked into black and shadows, everywhere—those small stains and pools were everywhere! On the stones and sand, in the cracks and holes, on the bushes beside them! Under and around, behind and ahead, on the skin of his pale feet! Small and large, thin and wide, they formed flowers and snakes, maps and constellations. There was a spider on the ground, a cow’s head on the large rock, a handprint on the tree trunk. And the footprints! One pair, two pairs, three pairs... God, how many people had there been?!

Why hadn’t they noticed sooner?

Allen ran, eyes big and telescopic, scanning the signs splattered around them. Kanda was right behind him, his hawk’s gaze picking up missed details, broken branches and torn leaves. Darting around, they followed the bloody trail until finding themselves from a small, wooden bridge. It bent over a stream. The hairs at the back of Allen’s neck stood up, and he stopped, gaze trailing the water’s edge. If they were where he thought, it wasn’t too far from the cottage. He crossed the bridge and searched the side of the road; there should be an opening somewhere around...

Shit.

A small path had been cleared open. A huge fern had been pushed aside, leaves ripped from their stalks like pieces of paper—the same large leaves they had used to hide the spot where they had diverged from this road only two days ago. Kanda rushed past Allen to check further on the road, only to return in few seconds. Blood and muddy footprints stopped here; they had moved onto the secluded path battened down by the overgrown vegetation.

Allen and Kanda dashed after them, not bothering to inspect their surroundings anymore.

Allen could only think of those bodies at the farm; how their home had been invaded in the middle of the night, how their pet had been butchered, how they had been beaten and murdered in front of each other’s eyes—how their small daughter had been killed into her own bed. The gory images kept replaying in his head, the imagined events reeling back and forth, filling the missing parts with more and more horrors—and little by little, those lifeless faces started to resemble Lavi and Johnny.

 _Why did I have to run off_? Allen though. _Why couldn’t I just suck it up and stay with them?!_

Had he stayed there... Had he returned there sooner... God.

_Please... Please, do not let anything happen to them!_

They were there. The cottage looked as shady and wrecked as before, nothing like the proud farmhouse, which had been lively and liveable. The remaining campfire coughed up pillows of smoke that floated in the air and dissolved slightly above the trees, but otherwise it was peaceful and quiet. They could have almost forgotten why they had rushed there, had a strange blob not lied on the porch. A human. On his or her back, on the floor—and the door in front of them wide open.

The world around Allen exploded. Crowned Clown activated, tying itself around him like an octopus, and Mugen following in suit. He and Kanda kicked off the ground and flew towards the black door inviting them into a gamble. In any other situation, Allen would have welcomed it. He was good at taking risks and cheating his way out of impossible situations—but this was different. Old Maid could be all that was left. One wrong thought, one hesitation. Something like that could cost them dearly. And they couldn’t afford it. _Please, please!_ They forced themselves in, and Allen’s cape split into several, vine-like strings hovering around him like giant claw ready to strike or grab into anything that moved. Another fallen body lied right behind the doorway, but it wasn’t who he was looking for. “Lavi! Johnny!” he screamed, his gaze whipping through the space.

Someone was there, standing in the middle of the room. Their lanky form flinched from the sudden noise, and they stumbled back, unnaturally long arm swinging behind them. In front of them was yet another body, crumbled to the floor like a broken golem, too large for either Lavi or Johnny—to Allen’s relief. But the person still up didn’t stay put for long. They lunged down, almost disappearing from the view, and whizzed towards Allen with mechanically high speed. Something flashed in that wrong-looking hand, something red and silvery. Allen tensed up. His mask flew into his face, and his cape prepared to parry the incoming attack. A scream disturbed both him and his opponent.

“Stop! It’s Allen! ALLEN!”

The figure in front of him paused, hand trembling in the air. Allen finally had a chance to take it in, and his eyes widened in recognition; facing him from below, crouched and legs tensed for a bounce, was no other than Lavi. The shocked redhead was panting visibly, chest shrivelling and enlarging like a pulsing organ. No sound escaped him despite the aggressive breathing, making for an eerie, obscure moment. Lavi’s good eye blinked, then narrowed and shot open. Light returned into it. His pale lips mumbled something before disappearing into his mouth. Lavi lowered his arm, and Allen could now see that it wasn’t longer than the other, just holding a knife. One of their food knives.

“Oh… hi.”

For a moment, everyone just stared at each other. Lavi had small scratches here and there, and his shirt had gained few holes and tears. Johnny was standing a little further away, fiddling with his sleeves. A nasty bruise was forming onto his forehead, and his eyeglasses hung on his face asymmetrically, the frames twisted and one of the lenses speckled by a splash of blood—thankfully not his. Without a warning, he dashed towards Allen and threw his arms around him for the second time today. “I’m so glad you are okay!” he said, wincing as his forehead rubbed against Allen’s shoulder. Allen returned the hug.

“Are you?” he asked in return. Johnny tightened the hold on his shirt, letting out a small laugh and a nod; he looked like a mess, but the bruise seemed to be the worst of it. Johnny glanced into Lavi’s direction, and his enthusiastic expression was replaced by a pained frown. Allen followed his eyes and found himself staring at Lavi’s bone-white fingers—they were still curled around the knife.

Kanda’s rough huff broke the budding silence. He stomped closer to their petrified friend and wrenched the weapon out of his hands. “Give that to me!” Without sparing it a second look, he flung it to the cottage’s darkest corner, far away from the bodies on the floor. “Is this all of them?” he asked, addressing the question to Lavi.

Lavi blinked again, the muscles of his mouth flapping as he tried to return to right channel. “Huh? Yeah! Only those three. They were trying to get in, and...” His eye made a glance towards the corner that had devoured the knife, and his lips twitched painfully.

“What did they want?” Allen asked. He didn’t really need to hear it. Johnny and Lavi were safe and alright, and he should be happy with that. But these men had already killed—and based on his friends’ injuries, they had tried again. He just wanted to know _why_. He needed something he could understand.

Johnny continued avoiding their eyes, and Lavi shrugged. “They just barged in. We offered them our stuff, but...” he made a worried peek in Johnny’s direction, and his eye became a black hole, devoid of light. “They hit him.” At that moment, the room seemed to become several shades darker. All colour was washed from Lavi, and he looked so lacking it was difficult make sense of his facial features. He looked like another person altogether, and had Allen run into him on street, he wouldn’t have recognized him. He fought an urge to step backwards. Lavi suddenly moved and closed in on their nearest attacker, giving them a forceless kick. “I’ve seen eyes of madman before,” he said, not quite bitterly but definitely not indifferently. “If they weren’t ones, they were getting there.”

The three strangers on the floor were all men, larger than any of them. They looked like ordinary workers, wearing commoner’s clothing and having varying tools with them. Blades, knives, an axe, and a digging fork. No swords or guns. If it weren’t for the poorly wiped stains on those tools, Allen might have thought this was some kind of misunderstanding. The men were unconscious but alive, despite the growing stains on where Lavi’s knife had cut them. Allen’s eyes trailed over the body whose face he could see the clearest, locking the large forehead that had been slashed open. Blood had poured down it like wet paint, flowing down all the way to the man’s large, bullish lips. But a particularly big stain had pooled above his left eye, resembled a wacky star. Allen felt a wave of disgust hit him _._ He wanted nothing more than tear his eyes away the human waste on the floor; the ironic wound might have looked terrific, but it wasn’t lethal.

And still...

Allen moved to the pile they kept their clothes in, pulling out his socks. “We can’t leave them like this.” He put on his shoes and tightened Crown Clown, using its strings to lift and collect the criminals. He tied them into a firm bundle and started dragging them outside, doing his best to ignore Kanda’s immediate protests. “They are wounded and could bleed dry.” _Or get away with murder._ He knew his group didn’t have time to sit at a police station, and even an appearance near one was risky and foolish. There was only one way to pull this kind of stunt off, and he didn’t like it either. “I’ll have to use Ark to drop them into the town.”

His friends followed him outside and exchanged varying looks. “Noahs and the Order will be on our tail in no time,” Kanda mumbled. “Guess we’ll better start packing right away.” Allen smiled at him apolitically—unfortunately, he wasn’t exaggerating.

“I’m sorry. Won’t be gone for long.” As soon as he returned, they would have to get on move and relocate to somewhere more difficult to find. It wasn’t fair.

Johnny was the first one to approach him again. He placed his hands on Allen’s shoulders, face twisting into runny oatmeal. “Don’t be! It was my fault they found us in the first place! I—” He breathed through his mouth instead of his watering nose, and his words got drowned into desperation. Lavi stepped closer, and Johnny let go of Allen, glomping the taller boy instead. What a surprising turn of events. Allen watched as hesitant Lavi settled his hands between Johnny’s back and shoulders, holding the crumpling man together. The late fear was coming out with force, and poor Johnny kept blurting out things that didn’t make any sense while emptying his nose on Lavi’s chest.

Allen did his best to help them through the worst of the outburst before Kanda snatched Johnny away. He was going to give him one of his “talks,” and while Allen wasn’t sure if it would do more damage than good, Kanda had always had a soft spot for the scientist. It _should_ be alright. Allen was left alone with Lavi who was looking at his hands with a bizarre expression, as if he couldn’t recognize them as his own. “Are you okay, Allen?” he suddenly asked, the concern in his voice taking Allen by the surprise. Lavi was rotating his sock in the wet ground, and his all-seeing eye had shifted to him, gaze shy and careful. “Was the walk helpful?”

Allen hid his grimace. Lavi and Johnny didn’t need to know—not before they were far from here. He didn’t feel like talking about death and unfairness in life, so he lied. Lavi didn’t seem to buy it, but he played along.

The sky had turned grey; the starts had disappeared and hid behind the clouds that had slightly shining edges, seams, and threads. It wasn’t morning yet, but the darkness had dissolved, making room for the sun that would rise soon. Allen had to go. Without looking at Lavi, he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind. “I’m glad you didn’t kill them.”

Eh, what?

Lavi gave him a weird look. Allen could tell that he was just as uncomfortable as him, digging his heel into the ground nervously. Those strange words hung between them like an invisible line, and neither of them seemed to have any idea what to do with them. It was awkward—and scary. Allen didn’t understand how those exact words had appeared into his mouth, and why they had felt like bullets.

There was no time to sweat it out. He had to push the awful feeling aside—there was a gate to focus on.

Ignoring the tension, Allen closed his eyes and allowed his surroundings to blend together. Black became white, white black. The cottage and the forest turned into swirls of smoke before melting. They dripped from the air, like rain flowing down a window, and intensified into waterfalls that washed away everything. Allen alone was left standing above a silver lake sparkling with static-like dust and lights. Only when it was all quiet and empty, he allowed himself to sink and slip into the memories, searching for the ones that weren’t his. Using Ark was playing an instrument. He needed the right commands—the right words. It felt like a faucet had been opened, and foreign, unfamiliar melodies started to fill his head, beginning as whispers.

Slow and inconspicuous. Thread on his lips and fingers, hand over his eyes. _Remember, sleep, remember, sleep._ Had he not been familiar with the process, he would have been terrified; being so close to something that threatened your existence would have made anyone antsy. At least he didn’t have to search for long since he had memorized most of the process, and it came to him like a second nature. The echo of the Fourteenth assisted him when his mouth started chanting, and his hands hit the keys of the old piano controlling the device. He imagined the town they had passed few days ago.

Space in the air ripped open. Angular frames appeared above Allen and his friends, becoming windows that revealed a different place on the other side—a mysterious city that worked as a passage between two locations. Ark was ready.

Allen sighed in relief. He tugged at his cape, testing the bindings around his captives. Lavi had left his side and joined the others making their way back to the cottage. He was hesitating in front of the wrenched doorway, which stood before him like a gate to hell, until Kanda gave him and encouraging push. Following in his steps but pausing before going in, Kanda whipped his face into Allen’s direction. The strange look lasted for a second at most, and soon Kanda, too, disappeared from his sight. Jonny dropped back outside for a moment, pouring cold tea water over the smoking campfire, and hurried back in.

Allen closed his eyes. He climbed into Ark’s dimensional window, the mass of three men on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed once more before the frame closed and separated him from his friends.

A white flower had fallen to where he had stood. It was stretching its pedals like a wounded butterfly, desperate to keep its form. As the darkness around it got weaker, it screeched and spasmed until it couldn’t anymore. It curled up, becoming smaller and smaller until it was a dry, wrinkled pupa. Forgotten and abandoned, it lied in between the dominating grass bars, watching as people left and arrived.

Until a pair of leather gloves picked it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got to publish this chapter! I've been writing it forever, and it went through a large edit because my English improved so much. I hope writing will become faster from now on.
> 
> This was one hell of a chapter. It also went through few edits before I could be satisfied with it. Lavi was originally going to fight his and Johnny's attackers, but I switched into Allen's POV because leaving the details out felt more interesting. This was also Allen's chapter. Next time we are going to have one focusing on Kanda, and the plot will progress. And I promise an actual fight scene.
> 
> Hope you liked it despite the long wait. I'm still not natural with English, and I appreciate all help I can get. Special thanks to KittyBandit for helping me with the summary!


End file.
